Plot Bunny Storage
by Laume
Summary: Basically a place to store the short little plot bunnies that hop into my mind, especially late at night. Placing them here will hopefully keep them contained
1. Guardianship

"Are you sure this is what you want, Mr Potter?"

Fourteen-year-old Harry nodded, his lips pressed together. "I am certain, Madam Bones."

"Harry, my boy, you must understand…"

"Hush, Albus," another woman, Ophelia Littletree, of the very undervalued Children's Department in the Ministry of Magic replied, "obviously we shouldn't have taken your word that you placed Harry somewhere safe all those years ago."

The ancient wizard stood up. "Harry must remain in the care of his aunt and uncle. As long as he can call that place home, his mother's blood will protect him and keep him safe."

"I never called that home," Harry protested, "and I am not safe there at all."

"Our assessment of the Dursley family agrees with the boy," Littletree told Amelia Bones, "we alerted the Muggle Child Protection Services and they took the Dursley boy into their care. To return Harry there would be foolish, bordering on criminal."

"I begged the Headmaster to let me stay at Hogwarts. I begged my teachers before. They all said they would help me and then didn't, and act like I never asked anything in the first place. The Headmaster just said I had to return home," Harry reported.

"We must investigate that," Ophelia Littletree commented, "but for now, suffices to say Harry must be placed with another guardian."

"Very well, I shall take him," Dumbledore sighed, "if the Ministry insists."

Harry panicked. "No, he'll put me back with the Dursleys!"

"Calm yourself, Harry. You are fourteen years old, and that means under our laws that you have the right to dismiss anyone we propose that you do not wish to have as your guardian. You may also suggest people yourself."

Dumbledore propelled a blackhaired man forward who was scowling fiercely.

"Severus will apply."

"I told you, Headmaster…" the silky voice began to protest, but was cut off.

"You know it is for the greater good. Harry will have to obey you and you can teach him…"

Snape rolled his eyes. "It is an insane idea, even for you, and that is saying something."

"Harry?" Madam Bones asked.

"No! Living with Snape would be like living with the Dursleys," Harry frantically shook his head to indicate he did NOT want Snape as his guardian, "he hates me. I want someone who won't lock me in a cupboard and doesn't hate me."

"Ridiculously low standards, Potter," Snape commented, "any child, including you, is entitled to a little more than just that. Now, Headmaster, if you are done with this embarrassing charade…"

"I already know who I want as my guardian," Harry interrupted the proceedings.

"Oh? Who, then?" the two women leaned closer.

A woman in wide, slightly rumpled robes and huge glasses strode forward. "I will take Harry," said Sybil Trelawny.

The others stared. Harry smiled at the woman.

"You want…why?" Snape voiced the question in everyone's mind.

"Well," Harry ticked the reasons off on his fingers, "she's a Hogwarts professor and lives there all year round, which means as her kid, I could too. She is always nice to me and she doesn't have anyone else for family – I could be her family as much as she could be mine. And while she may predict my death on a daily basis, unlike most other people involved in my upbringing she doesn't actually try to kill me."

"But what if Sirius gets cleared, Harry, or professor Lupin is allowed to become your guardian?" Dumbledore tried desperately.

"Sirius isn't a suitable guardian. He's still a bit mad from Azkaban and he sees only my father, not me. Professor Lupin is nice, but he has trouble standing up to people. He would do whatever you told him to, so I'd probably end up with the Dursleys again. No one else is volunteering, and I don't want anyone to be forced to put up with me – not again."

Amelia Bones and Ophelia Littletree whispered together softly.

"Professor Trelawny has a clean record and we have no reason to doubt she will not provide Harry with a safe home. Harry, if this is what you want, we have no objection."

Dumbledore sputtered, Snape smirked, amusement dancing in his black eyes, and Harry jumped into the arms of his new guardian, Sybil Trelawny.


	2. Gone

**A/N Thinking about what really would have happened if Snape got Harry for the summer…not a happy fic.**

Harry Potter sat in the Headmaster's office, his hands clenched and his eyes watching the edge of Dumbledore's desk. A little further away stood a scowling dark haired man. Dumbledore's eyes twinkled merrily.

"So Professor Snape will be your guardian for the summer, Harry. Your relatives have already signed the papers releasing you to him. I expect you to obey and study vigorously, my boy."

Harry looked up, his eyes full of contempt. "Obey someone who hates me, and can't wait to get his hands on me to treat me even worse than the Dursleys ever did?" he said bitterly, "You didn't even bother to ask me anything. I won't go."

"Oh yes you will, Potter," Snape hissed, "arrogant, spoiled brat. You are as bad as your father, and I will make sure you will learn to respect your elders…"

"Severus," Dumbledore said mildly before turning to Harry with a stern look.

"You are a minor, the papers have been signed. You will go with Professor Snape."

"I'll run away," Harry said heatedly, "you can't make me live with someone who hates me again! I can go to the Weasleys, they can teach me, or Remus."

"You'll do no such thing," Snape declared, his dark eyes glittering malevolently, "you have a role to play in this war and you will play it! People DIE, Potter! Everyday others die because of your selfishness, wanting to live in the lap of luxury."

With that, he pulled the boy up by his collar and dragged him from the room. At the door, Harry turned to Dumbledore.

"I will never forgive you for this," he said coldly, "never."

"Harry," the old man had paled, "you will come to see that it's all for the best…."

sssssssss

Snape dumped Harry in a small room in the attic of Spinner's End. It was bare and dusty and the only window was broken. An old mattress lay on the floor with a couple of blankets.

"You will be either in this room or within my sight," Snape declared, "you will not idle your holiday away like you are used to at your relatives. I have confiscated your cloak and your broom and I made you this…"

He held out a bracelet which he forced on Harry's arm. It shrunk to fit him and the lock disappeared.

"If you even set a foot outside the door without me accompanying you, this will give you a nasty shock that will render you unable," Snape's lip curled into a frightening smirk, "there will be no running away."

Harry stared at him, wondering how long it would take for Snape to start beating him. The man obviously caught that thought.

"Oh, no, Potter," he drawled, "beating children is for the uninspired, unintelligent. I assure you, I have many more creative things at my disposal."

ssssssssss

After a day or two, Harry decided he had been wrong about Snape being as bad as the Dursleys. Oh no. He was much worse. Where the Dursleys wanted Harry to do his chores and stay out of the way as much as possible when he was not doing that, Snape was always near whenever Harry was not locked in his room, which was only for the three or four hours each night that he was allowed to sleep. Whether he was studying, having Occlumency lessons or doing chores – Spinner's End was quite a neglected house and Harry was apparently expected to return it to pristine state before the end of summer – Snape hovered nearby. And when the man wanted to brew in his basement, Harry had to come and prepare the most disgusting ingredients.

He only tried running away once. The bracelet didn't just incapacitate him – it caused pain that could only be compared with the Cruciatus curse.

After releasing him from it, Snape had forced a potion down Harry's throat that made him vomit for a solid hour, after which he was forced to clean the entire bathroom.

He was allowed to eat, but it turned out Snape, despite his many creepy potions ingredients, was convinced children needed to be vegetarian. So Harry got a slice of toast with jam in the mornings, a cup of tea, and in the evening a bowl of boiled vegetables with rice.

Each and every night Snape attacked his mind aggressively, over and over again, forcing Harry to relive his many bad memories. Privately, Harry began to suspect Snape's mother had a fling with a Dementor at some time, which resulted in the birth of the professor.

After a week Harry stopped caring. He did his chores, studied, went about his daily business as usual, working until his back ached and then collapsing for a few hours. His mind became clearer because there was now so much to suppress it was easier to just suppress the whole lot.

ssssssssssssss

Four weeks into the holiday Snape watched the brat disembowel frogs with glee. He had managed what no one in all those years had – he had made it clear to the horrible boy that disobedience was not tolerated, and that he had to show the respect his elders deserved.

"That frog is poorly done. You left the liver and heart."

"Yes sir. Sorry sir."

The thin fingers hurriedly corrected the mistake.

"Honestly, you are as terrible as your father and his friends. Always finding shortcuts, always trying to get what they wanted with minimal effort."

"Yes sir. Sorry sir," came the response again.

Sipping a glass of wine Snape relaxed into his chair. See, the boy was tameable after all. And he could insult him and his father at his leisure.

"I expect the kitchen cleaned and dinner on the table at 7 sharp," he motioned to a small bottle, "or you will spend the night over the toilet again instead of sleeping."

"Yes sir." A glance at the clock. Through the matted black hair the green eyes picked up that it was 5.30 already – making it a nearly impossible task. To his regret, however, at 7 pm exactly the table was set, the smells of dinner came from the spotless kitchen and the boy obediently served him a light soup. A roast came next.

"You may have some of the soup, if there is any left over," Snape nodded grandly at the boy as if bestowing a tremendous favour, "You will have the dishes done and present yourself in the parlor for Occlumency lessons at 8 pm."

"Yes, sir," Harry once again responded.

ssssssssss

Occlumency wasn't so difficult anymore. Clearing his mind came naturally – he was in that state most of the day.

No more thoughts

No more rebellion

Only pain, and trying to avoid it.

Hunger, and hoping to be fed.

Exhaustion, and hoping for a little sleep.

Animal instincts.

That was all that remained of Harry Potter.

ssssssssssssss

On his way to the Great Hall to await the students Dumbledore passed Snape and his charge, who had just arrived as well.

"Ah, Severus, Harry," he smiled, "how was your summer."

"Fine, Headmaster," Snape responded.

Harry simply stared at the floor.

"Harry? Did you obey Professor Snape like I told you to?" Dumbledore prodded.

"Yes, sir," was the quiet response.

"Good, good. Then go take your seat at your House table. The train has pulled in and the carriages are on their way."

With that, Dumbledore walked on and Snape pushed Harry towards the Hall.

"Go await your little friends. My guardianship over you ends as of now, thank Merlin. I am finally rid of you."

Harry didn't respond, only sat at the table quietly while the other students filed in.

"Harry! Harry!" Hermione and Ron joined him, "why didn't you respond all summer, mate?" they asked, "we sent you presents!"

They got no response, and exchanged a worried glance as Dumbledore stood up.

After the speech and announcements, Ron launched into his dinner. Hermione helped herself to modest portions of her favourite foods, saving her appetite for dessert, which she didn't get too much of at home. She loved her parents dearly, but they were such _obsessive_ dentists.

"Harry?" she said as she noticed her friend wasn't eating, "Harry, what's wrong? Are you alright?"

"Yes…ma'am?" a bit unsure.

"Ma'am? Since when do you call me…Harry, please eat something. We'll go see Madam Pomfrey after dinner."

"Yes, thank you, Ma'am," he reached for the bowl of steamed vegetables and put a small serving on his plate.

Ron watched the exchange with his mouth, still full of shepherd's pie, hanging open.

sssssssss

"Goodness, how did you manage to get here the first day of the new term, Mr Potter?"

The nurse bustled about, not yet noticing she didn't get an answer.

"He is acting weird, Madam Pomfrey," Ron hedged, "he hasn't spoken a word at dinner, except to say 'Yes Ma'am' to Hermione."

Pomfrey frowned and waved her wand.

"He is exhausted…severe lack of protein in his diet the past months…causing weakness and making it harder for him to think…"

She cast a few more spells, this time aimed at Harry's head. The blood drained from her face.

Dumbledore entered the infirmary, followed by Snape.

"What has the brat done now, Poppy?" Snape asked in exasperation, turning to the boy.

The Headmaster for the first time noticed Harry's empty stare and made eye contact, clearly trying to see if he could get inside Harry's head.

"His Occlumency shields are incredibly strong," he said in awe, "you did well, Severus."

The nurse cursed. All people in the infirmary save the still quiet Harry turned to her in amazement.

"You do not seem to realize, Headmaster, that those are _not_ Occlumency shields," her voice was clipped, angry, and desolate all at once, "in fact, that is not Mr Potter."

"What?" Ron and Hermione asked as one, "what…who is he? Where is Harry? Did he get kidnapped?"

Madam Pomfrey sighed. "No, he is not kidnapped. This is Mr Potter's body. However, the owner is not actually in it. He has retreated so far into his mind that he has become untraceable. Even my scans don't pick him up anymore – I doubt even the most skilled mind healer could achieve anything."

She took a deep breath. "In short, Headmaster, though his body breathes, Harry Potter is gone."

sssssssssssss

"I don't understand," Hermione sobbed, "How can Harry be gone? He talked, and he ate!"

Poppy pulled the girl closer, ignoring the Headmaster who had collapsed in a chair and Snape who was skulking in the shadows.

"Harry suffered some kind of severe trauma. He was already fragile – you know his poor self esteem at times. Something this summer not only sent him over the edge that he always already was dangerously close to, but almost literally hurled him over it, so far that Harry is not capable of returning. Nor, I suspect, does he want to. In a way, you could say he has been Kissed."

Ron swore. "I'll kill whoever did this to him…I swear!"

Hermione looked up. "Where was he this summer? He wasn't at the Dursleys."

"He…" Dumbledore began, "he…I made him the ward of Professor Snape…"

The three others paled while their eyes widened. Snape stepped forward. "I assure you I did not get a Dementor, nor did I beat the boy."

"Then what did you do?" the nurse managed.

"I merely thought to teach him discipline and hard work," Snape began, "the Headmaster insisted I teach him Occlumency."

"And this?" Pomfrey nearly yelled, holding up Harry's wrist, "don't think I don't know what this is, Snape! Barbaric!"

"He already threatened to run away in the Headmaster's office," Snape drawled, "I thought it prudent to take precautions."

Dumbledore took the boys other hand in his own.

"I never thought…" he whispered, "is it really irreversible, Poppy? He still lives…there must be hope while he still lives?"

The nurse shook her head. "Not here, certainly not with his tormentor nearby," she spat at Snape, "nor the one who forced him to suffer," Dumbledore withered under her glare, "He does not wish to return. He CAN return, perhaps, but it is extremely unlikely and would only occur when he lives with someone whom he knows to love him unconditionally. That person would have to constantly care for him, day in, day out, for perhaps years. There are no such persons in his life. There is no one that loves him unconditionally, and certainly no one that he believes would do so. His relatives saw to that. He does not consider himself worthy of love."

"Drivel," Snape said, "some Occlumency technique will bring him back. He is just trying to get attention."

"Severus, quiet," Dumbledore's voice was soft, but deadly, "Go to my office. I will speak with you later."

Snape blanched, but turned to the door. "Do not forget, Headmaster," he remarked, his hand on the handle, "that it was YOU who forced me to take him."

"I have not forgotten," Dumbledore muttered, "the last thing he ever said to me…was that he would never forgive me for it. I wish I'd listened. Now how is he going to fight Tom?"

"Is that all you think of?" Hermione was bright red with anger, "is that all he ever was to you? A weapon you wanted to shape and accidentally broke with the forging?"

She stood by the body of her friend, as did Ron. "Murderer," Ron said with undisguised hatred.

Again Dumbledore turned to the nurse, who did not even bother letting him voice the question.

"No, Headmaster. Harry Potter is dead."


	3. Ancients Anonymous

**Ancients Anonymous.**

**Counsellor**: Welcome back everyone, to our group. How have you all been this week?

**Grindelwald**: Really, I was locked up as usual. No difference there.

**Voldemort**: I tried to kill Harry Potter again.

**Counsellor**:looks worried ah…we'll have to address that later. Albus?

**Dumbledore**: I planned for Harry's death.

**Rest**: confused why?

**Dumbledore:** it's for the greater goo….

**Counsellor**: STOP! Let's repeat our motto.

**All:** grumbling The greater good does not give us the right to interfere in other people's lives.

**Counsellor**: Excellent.

**Aberforth Dumbledore:** Honestly, I don't see why you invited me. I don't try to dominate the world or manipulate people for the greater good.

**Counsellor**: I know, I just wanted you to come along for Albus's sake.

**Dumbledore**: I really don't see why I am here, either. These people all want world domination.

**Grindelwald**: We want to reform the world to what we think is best.

**Voldemort**: You only object to our methods, Headmaster, you never objected to our philosophy.

**Grindelwald**: You try to achieve the same as we do, without violence. But you do not hesitate to plan the death of a boy for the 'greater good'.

**Dumbledore**: Oh alright. I see your point.

**Counsellor**: Let's do an introduction round for the sake of Aberforth, shall we?

**Grindelwald**: stands up I'm Gerrert, and I am addicted to power.

**Rest**: Hi, Gerrert!

**Voldemort**: I am Tom, and I am addicted to power.

**Rest**: Hi, Tom!

Dumbledore: reluctantly gets to his feet I am Albus, and I suppose one could say that power is my weakness…

**Counsellor**: Albus…

**Dumbledore**: Oh alright! I am Albus and I am addicted to power!

**Rest**: approvingly Hi Albus!

**Counsellor**: Alright, today we are going to discuss how our lives have become unmanageable by the quest for power. Tom, would you like to start?

**Voldemort**: I guess it's sort of fun that everyone fears me and all that, but I must admit it's rather hard to browse the antique shops in the Alleys these days. I used to enjoy that, and now I am stuck in some dark hidey-hole because I can't go out into the streets without either screaming crowds fleeing from me or Order members trying to kill me. I can't have NORMAL days anymore, you know, where I just get up late, stroll into the Leaky Cauldron for some breakfast, stroll through Diagon and Knockturn Alleys searching to expand my collection of ancient artifacts, have an icecream at Fortescue's…it's hard…hard to give that all up…

**Counsellor**: dispensing tissues to sniffling Voldemort does anyone else recognize this feeling?

**Grindelwald**: Well, yes. I mean, I was rather foolish in my youth and ended up locked up for half a century, so it's not really my own choice that I can't have those days out, but yeah…I find myself wondering what would have happened if I had followed Albus's lead instead and not gone so berserk. I enjoyed Quidditch, but I haven't seen a game since…oh my, since before Tommy here was born.

**Dumbledore**: I might be able to ahem…stroll through the Alleys and watch Quidditch, but honestly, I do attract every idiot Dark Lord wannabe since apparently killing me would give them status. Not to mention that no matter what I do for the greater good, people will complain about every little detail."

**Aberforth Dumbledore**: You got Ariana killed and you're sending a teen to his death. How are those little details?

**Counsellor**: Now please, Abe…may I call you Abe? That's not very constructive.

**Aberforth Dumbledore**: No kidding? You expect me to sit here and watch a bunch of powercrazy old goats complain that they can't go on outings anymore? Perhaps you might consider that it is your killing of innocent people you choose to take up as a profession that is responsible for it.

**Dumbledore**: I do recognize power is my weak point. I refused to become Minister…

**Aberforth Dumbledore**: …in favour of being Headmaster of the most prestigious school in Britain, Head of the Wizengamot and Chief Mugwump of the International Federation. The Minister can't scratch his arse without your permission. How's that keeping away from power? If you had been serious about not wanting power, you would've led an inconspicuous life. But you chose not to, and now not only you but the rest of the world lives with the consequences. Do you realize that in this room, all of you have been planning the death of Harry Potter since he was an infant? Oh, not you, Gerrert, but then, you had already filled your quota of child killing with my sister, didn't you?

**Rest**: crying and blowing noses in tissues

**Counsellor**: I sense a spirit of hostility in you, Abe. I feel you should get help for that. You are not being very supportive, and for the sake of my clients I must ask you to leave.

**Aberforth Dumbledore:** Gladly.

**Harry Potter**: outside the room, waiting for Aberforth How did it go?

**Aberforth Dumbledore**: Harry, forget about fighting Tom. There's a much greater evil out there…self-help groups.


	4. May the Force be with you

**A short continuation of the 'Trelawny Adopts Harry' bunny from part 1. This entire scene is entirely from Snape's point of view during the first week Trelawny has Harry.**

Snape dutifully glared at everyone at breakfast the first morning of the holidays, but only half-heartedly. He was in his usual first-week-without-the-dunderheads-mood and even grunted a reply to Pomona Sprout's overly cheerful 'Good morning'.

Albus had a satisfyingly chagrined look on his face, result of yesterday's custody hearing. And speaking of which…wasn't that Trelawny coming in with her new charge? Yes indeed. Snape settled happily in his chair. This could be entertaining.

The boy was wearing the most disgusting Muggle clothes Snape had ever seen, and considering his own childhood that was saying something. His glasses must have broken again because they were taped together in three spots now instead of the usual two. He sneered.

"Goodmorning," Sybil radiated mysteriously divine in their general direction, "I saw myself this morning, coming down with my ward, and of course I had to follow the Sight…"

"Not to mention you were hungry and had a craving for muffins, Aunt Sybil," the brat supplied.

"Secondary considerations," the Divination Professor waved his comment aside, "Sight first, hunger second. But now that you mention it, child, I do see those nice muffins I've been dreaming about…"

The other teachers made room and soon Harry was settled between his guardian and Professor Flitwick.

"First, tomorrow, we are going to buy you new glasses and new clothes," Sybil declared, "Many Seers have lived in poverty out of necessity, but cold does cloud the Inner Eye."

"Not to mention he'll see much better into your crystal ball if he actually sees anything at all," Minerva primly declared.

"Indeed, Minerva, very considerate of you. Well, St Mungo's and then a clothes shop for Harry. This afternoon, I'll teach you to read tea leaves, Harry dear."

"Fine with me, Aunt Sybil, as long as I can read some scones too," Potter nodded around a mouth full of scrambled eggs. He did not finish the small portion he had taken, though, and sat back while everyone else was still eating.

"Harry dear, you can't See on an empty stomach."

Snape frowned, then turned from his own finished breakfast to the boy at the opposite side of the table.

"Let me scan him for a moment, Sybil."

The boy, to his credit, barely flinched when Snape pointed his wand at him.

"Hmmm," the Potions Master muttered, copying his readings on a napkin and showing it to the nurse, "look. Haven't seen a case this severe in many years."

He looked up at the two. "Potter has been so used to periods of starvation that his system now functions automatically. Since for a number of years, summer was the onset of such a period, his body subconsciously goes into starvation mode when term ends. Nutrient potions and time will correct this."

Dumbledore, he saw from the corner of his eyes, was being hissed to by Minerva while Hagrid shook his head in obvious disappointment with his idol on the other side. Harry was smirking slightly.

"Harry," the Headmaster tried again, "are you sure you wish to remain with your present…guardian? Sirius…"

"I'm happy where I am," the boy drank down a nutrient potion that Poppy had sent an House Elf to retrieve.

"Sirius is your godfather, your parents wanted him to take care of you, my boy…"

"I am not your boy, Sir, I am Aunt Sybil's boy now. And my parents wanted their friend to take care of me. I doubt they would think someone who innocently spent twelve years in Azkaban and is traumatized as a result of it, not to mention on the run, would be a suitable guardian. The Sirius of fourteen years ago was the one they wanted as my guardian, and while the Sirius of today is their dear friend that they probably would help and love, they would not consider him a fit guardian. I've already said so at the hearing and the judge agreed with me."

So. The boy did have brains. Perhaps Potters obnoxious, overbearing genes did not wipe out every trace of Lily in the boy after all. Their son could apparently make a sound and appealing argument when he felt inclined to do so.

Snape left the table, actually looking forward to lunch.

sssssssssssss

Potter and the Fraud were late for lunch, he noted. Not that it mattered to him other than for entertainment purposes, though. However, even he had to fight to keep a straight face when the two finally walked in.

Well, she most certainly did get Potter new glasses and it was obvious the boy could see more clearly now – he wobbled as if he felt he would walk into things constantly, due to the sudden sharpness of his vision. The fact that Sybil had taken him to her own optomagician was plain to see; the glasses the boy wore were round, very thick and made his green eyes even bigger behind the glass. Snape had to swallow thickly when they were trained on him for the first time.

"Professor Snape," Potter said in delight, "It's wonderful! I'll finally be able to read your handwriting on the blackboard!"

Then, apparently shocked by his own outburst, he scooted back behind Trelawny.

Snape smirked. "Hiding behind your guardians skirts, Potter? Good to see a Gryffindor with at least _some_ sense of self-preservation."

He skilfully ducked the swat aimed at his head coming from Minerva. His other colleagues were still too stunned.

The boy was wearing clothes that fit him now, and even had a haircut, although the messy hair was now held back from his eyes by a hairband, Trelawny style. Snape guessed the boy had only agreed to it since it also hid the scar on his forehead.

"I got my own set of Tarot cards and a Dream Guide book," the child grinned, "Aunt Sybil will show me how to use them."

Minerva frowned disapprovingly. "Sybil, honestly, do you think…"

"I agree," the Headmaster went on, "Divination is an imprecise magic…"

"I want to be a Seer," the boy announced, shocking both Headmaster and Transfigurations Professor into a stupor, "I can already read tealeaves and see something in a crystal ball."

"He is very talented. The force is strong in him," Sybil nodded with tears in her overly large bespectacled eyes.

"Harry, really, Defense Against…"

"But Seeing is a tactical advantage."

Snape had to give the Brat-Who-Lived credit, no one else ever interrupted the Headmaster and lived.

"If I can learn to See what Voldemort is doing, even if is just seconds before he attacks in a duel, wouldn't that be an amazing advantage for me, Professor Flitwick?"

Ah. So the boy had heard what a vicious dueller Filius was. He himself went up against the Charms professor from time to time and he regularly got his posterior handed to him by his smaller colleague.

"It certainly would be," Filius squeeked in excitement, "I've never thought of that! Mr Potter, you must let me help you. I would be learning so much from such an experiment…"

The boy and his guardian turned similar, grateful, jam pot eyes on the Charms Master. Trelawny then walked up to her tower without a second glance at them and the brat followed, but just before the door, the little cretin turned around and smirked straight into the Headmaster's face.

Oh yes. This adoption had been a VERY good idea.


	5. The Alchemist's Apprentice

**Another "I am a hopeless Snape fan and this is how I wanted things to have happened."**

Three stern looking persons, two female, one male, climbed the stairs to Hogwarts Castle and proceeded to the Entrance Hall, where they saw nothing but a few lingering students.

"Goodafternoon," one of the females greeted the children, "are there no classes today?"

"There were, Ma'am, but there was a mishap in Charms, so the remainder of the class was cancelled," one of the girls informed her.

"Unfortunate," the woman remarked, "I take it the classmates involved have been brought to the Infirmary, then?"

"Only the Marauders, of course," the girl shrugged, "but Snape was involved too. He is probably scrubbing cauldrons or bedpans already."

"Ah." The woman nodded, her face grim, "would you be so kind as to show us to the Headmasters office?"

Albus Dumbledore was alerted to a party requesting entrance to his domain. Upon learning that these were Ministry personnel with no hostile intentions, he opened the Gargoyle and let them in, standing up and twinkling merrily.

"Ah, do come in. What may I do to help the Ministry today?"

"I am Ophelia Littletree," one of the women introduced herself, "Head of the Children's Welfare Department. This is my colleague from Muggle Liaisons, Jeremy Kendrick. And this is Natalie Bones of the Hogwarts School Board, whom, of course, you already know. We are investigating the situation of one of your students. Today we would like to discuss this student with you, observe him and after that, speak to him."

The Headmaster frowned. "Why wasn't I informed of this? None of my Heads of House have reported a case of domestic violence with any of their students…"

"Which is also what we want to look into," Mrs Littletree, "and the reason Mrs Bones is with us today. Now, where may we find Severus Tobias Snape?"

The four boys in the infirmary beds had already been successfully treated by the mediwitch, but, fussy woman that she was, she insisted they stayed in bed a bit longer. Unfortunately, this dedication to her profession provided three of said boys with ample time to torment the boy scrubbing out the bedpans – the boy who put them there, after their little hexing incident.

"Snivellus! Catch!" Sirius Black yelled as he threw a bedpan at the other boy, "it's not clean enough. Guess stupid Malfoy didn't want to get his hands dirty yesterday when he had detention."

"Yeah," James Potter smirked, throwing his sheets onto the wet floor, "oooh, now look what you did, Snivelly little Slytherin. Madam Pomfrey won't be pleased."

"Hey Peter," Sirius turned to the mousy boy, "didn't you just fill up your bedpan?"

The small boy sheepishly produced a full urinal. Sirius levitated it to over Snape's head.

"Imagine I'd drop this now," he grinned, "that would be…"

"I suggest you levitate that thing to were it belongs, young man," a stern voice came from the door suddenly, "Now."

Sirius narrowed his eyes. "Oops," he said unconvincingly, dropping the urinal.

The boy under it gagged as the contents dripped from his hair unto his robes and the floor.

"Oh dear, Snape," James Potter smirked, "but don't worry, it'll probably make your hair cleaner…" then he noticed who was standing by the door.

"Headmaster…"

The three unknown visitors raised their wands, and a few spells later Snape was cleaned up. Madam Pomfrey rushed in.

"What are you doing with my patients?"

"Is it customary for your patients to torment their classmates?" Natalie Bones inquired icily, "if these boys are well enough to cast spells and bother other students, perhaps they are fit to leave."

"I deemed it better to keep them for a little while longer," the nurse bristled, "and I do know my job."

"Not well enough, apparently," Mrs Littletree, who had walked over to Snape to inspect the boy, raised his sleeve and showed them a long cut on his arm.

"I didn't know he'd been hurt!" the nurse protested, getting her wand out to clean and heal the wound, "I was just told he was sent here to clean bedpans for detention."

"We understood that there had been a mishap in Charms," Mrs Bones said, "then why were only these four boys taken to the infirmary, when the fifth also needed medical care?"

The Headmaster stepped in. "The situation is resolved now. Madam Pomfrey, surely the boys can leave now?"

"I suppose," the nurse continued bandaging the damaged arm.

"All except Mr Snape," Jeremy Kendrick remarked, "we need to speak to him."

The first thing that Mrs Littletree had noticed was how defensive the stringy, sullen boy appeared. He was fourteen, according to his records, and already a gifted Potions and Defense student. However, his record showed numerous detentions, mostly for hexing the group of students that had just left the infirmary. Natalie and herself had spent a few hours researching the files and Natalie had finally remarked that if the Snape boy truly did instigate all the incidents recorded, he was quite the accomplished wizard, taking on four year mates.

Now that the boy was seated in front of them in the Deputy's office that she had kindly loaned to them, with the Headmaster and Professor McGonagall in the background, they began the hard task they came to perform.

"Severus," she began, "this is Jeremy. He is the Muggle Liaison for the Ministry. I am from the Children's Welfare Department. We have been investigating your parents for a while now. Do you know why?"

The boy shrugged.

"Mr Snape!" the Deputy began, "respond with two words when spoken to!"

"Please, Ma'am," Mrs Littletree didn't even look around to her, "I am speaking with Severus."

The boy looked up, briefly, but through the curtain of dark hair she could see the surprise in the dark eyes.

"Did Father get in trouble again?" he finally asked.

"The situation is complicated," she responded, "we are investigating Wizard children. Your father is a Muggle, hence Jeremy's involvement. But what it comes down to, Severus, is that your parents have been deemed unfit guardians for you. It started when your father landed himself in a Muggle jail for killing another Muggle. Because he is related to you and your mother, Jeremy was asked to investigate. When he spoke to your parents, he was concerned about you, so he came to us."

Jeremy nodded. "Your father will remain in jail for at least ten years, Severus. Your mother has, I am sorry to tell you, signed guardianship over to the Ministry. It is up to Mrs Littletree here to find you another guardian."

"I shall, of course, hold myself available for that," the Headmaster spoke up. None of the three missed the look of horror on Severus' face at that.

"I am sorry, Headmaster, but there is already a candidate. However, let us give Severus some time to recover from this shocking news we've brought him before broaching that subject."

"Someone wants me?" Severus said, sounding surprised.

Mrs Littletree smiled at him. "Many people would want you, sweetheart. But there is one serious application – from an elderly couple who've never had children of their own. However, you would be taken out of Hogwarts."

Severus' usually controlled features suddenly shone with hope. "I can leave here?" he asked, his voice so happy that the three investigators shared a quick glance.

"Mr Snape," the Headmaster admonished, or began to.

"If that is no objection to you, we can take you to meet them, Severus," Mrs Littletree firmly ignored the old man, "but if you need more time to sort out your feelings towards your parents, we can easily wait…"

"No! No, please," the boy looked at them imploringly, "there's nothing to be done about it, isn't there? I mean, Father is in jail, Mother gave me up – that's not going to change, is it?"

"Not likely," they admitted.

"Then please, take me away from here, soon," the boy begged.

Natalie Bones sat down next to him. "We will take you right now, if you go pack your things. See, Nicholas and Perenelle would like you to live with them, but…"

"Nicholas…Flamel?" both Dumbledore and the boy nearly shouted.

"Yes. Nicholas and Perenelle Flamel. They've occasionally adopted young wizards and witches in need of a new home, but firmly believe in teaching them one on one."

"I'm going to leave here? I'm going to be Nicholas Flamel's apprentice?" Severus whispered in awe.

"Something like that. Although if you asked Perenelle, she would say that you are going to be their son."

Severus rushed off with Jeremy at his heels to pack his trunk and get ready to leave.

The Headmaster and Deputy looked sad and shocked, respectively.

"I am aware young Mr Snape wasn't as happy here as we would wish…"

"Oh stuff it, Albus," Natalie Bones said angrily, "we've done our research. The boy is probably a handful – not surprising considering the home he came from. Our school has a severe lack of student councellors – something we will have to mend. And that ridiculous bias against Slytherin has to go. Why, did you know that when a Slytherin is involved in a fight, there is a 90 chance that he will be blamed? When two students from other houses fight, the chances are usually more or less equal. We have taken some advice from the Muggles – the Ministry is appointing a Student Councellor who will not have been part of ANY house – possibly a Muggle or a Squib. We are going to install anti-bullying protocols, and educate the teachers to recognize signals of abuse. You, Headmaster, are going to get the Muggle grades required for your position."

"Dear Natalie, I really don't think…"

"Obviously you don't," the woman glared, "do you know what we saw? What we heard when we subjected the Snapes to Veritaserum? We had to remind them that they even HAVE a son. The boy has been neglected shamefully – the neighbours had filed several complaints with the Muggle child services because the child always walked around in old clothes that never seem to fit him. Unfortunately, since Eileen doesn't appear in their records any more than Severus does, they couldn't take action, but we can. We've spoken with the Muggles at length, Albus, and learned a lot. Muggle liaisons is going to be a very important department from now on – it seems we have a lot to learn when it comes to educating and protecting our children."

The Headmaster leaned back in irritation. This was going to be hell.

Somewhere else, an hour later…

"Hello, Severus," Perenelle Flamel said, "Do come in, we've been waiting for you. I've got tea and cake ready."

The boy shyly smiled at her, and cast an unsure glance at the old man by her side. A heavy hand came to rest on his bony shoulder.

"So, lad," a pleasant voice burred, "I've heard you're quite talented when it comes to playing with Potions."

"A little, Sir," Severus ducked his head.

"Ah, ah, none of that now, my boy. I won't demand anything unreasonable from you, but I do expect you to do your very best. Head up, and be proud. You hold an old and honoured title now, lad. You're an Alchemist's Apprentice, and the world will never be the same."


	6. Ringbearer

"But Aragorn! You and Elrond PROMISED!"

Frodo glared accusingly at the slightly desperate looking people around him.

"You promised. And now Arwen is here, and she doesn't mind at all!"

"Frodo, you have to understand…"

"I do NOT understand, nor do I want to, thank you very much!" Frodo crossed his arms over his chest and tapped his foot impatiently.

"I am the Ringbearer, Aragorn. You had it written down exactly like that in the Gondor Archives."

"Yes, but…"

"You gave me that title yourself, Lord Elrond."

"Indeed, Master Baggins, however I did not mean…"

"So there, you see? You promised."

"But Mr Frodo, don't you think you are a little…"

"A little what, Sam?"

The gardener-turned-adventurer/hero gave him an apologetic look. "I'm sorry, Mr Frodo, but you are a bit too old…"

"I don't look a day older than Merri and Pippin!" Frodo cried in protest.

None could deny that it was true, so silence reigned in which Frodo eyed them all triumphantly. Then Aragorn threw up his hands in desperation.

"Frodo, you simply cannot be serious!"

"I assure you I am. This time is going to be much more pleasant than last time – I would very much like to experience what being a Ringbearer truly means."

That softened every face around him, he noticed, and Aragorn submitted.

"Fine," ever the regal king, he picked up a silk pillow and handed it to Frodo.

"You can bear the Rings at our wedding tomorrow."

With a happy smirk, Frodo nearly skipped out of the throne room, leaving the others with the nagging suspicion that they'd been had.


	7. Shacking

**A/N: A few post-final battle scenes where Severus Snape is retrieved from the Shrieking Shack.**

**Scene one**

Two silent figures made their way through a dark tunnel. The only sound their footsteps until they reached a dark door. Then the tallest of the two lowered the hood of her cloak.

"Thank you for coming with me, Mr Potter."

Harry lowered his hood as well. "It's not right to leave him here. He deserves a proper burial. Besides, I can't help but feel guilty that he died here after all, where Sirius had intended for him to die when he was sixteen…"

"I doubt Mr Black truly intended for Severus to die that day," Minerva McGonagall scolded lightly.

"Oh yes, he did," Harry sounded bitter and disillusioned for a moment, "He was my godfather, and I loved him, Professor. But he was also a thoughtless bully who never saw anyone but himself. I have no doubt that he did not feel anything whatsoever at the thought that Professor Snape could have died that day, and only reconsidered after realizing what that would have done to Remus."

"He was a valued member of the Order."

"Yes – but just like Professor Snape he would not let a grudge go. Only he was a Gryffindor so it didn't matter, did it?"

When the older woman made to respond he waved his hand. "Forgive me, Professor. I am still quite confused over everything that happened these past seven years. I need time. For now, however, we should not let him lie there any longer than necessary."

She smiled slightly, then her lip trembled as she pushed open the door. The smell made them both gag and they quickly put up bubblehead charms.

The body was as Harry left it, cold, with the black orbs open and fixed, as if they still tried to capture Lily's eyes. The blood had turned dark and smelly, but the body itself was in remarkably good shape.

McGonagall saw Harry's confusion and managed a small smile. "A wizard's body doesn't decay as quickly as a Muggle's, Harry. A bit of the magic lingers, staying the decomposition process for a little while. Did you not wonder at the other funerals?"

"Muggles have ways to preserve bodies, too," Harry said, slowly moving towards Snape, "I just thought Wizards also prepared their dead for funeral that way."

The Headmistress knelt down by the body with pity in her eyes. "Poor Severus. What a lonely, difficult time he must have had this year. His whole life. I wish I had understood – that he had told me…"

"You weren't meant to understand," Harry carefully started to wrap the black cloak around its owner, "none of us were meant to understand. It could have ruined everything if you had not reacted hostile to him, with so many eyes about. I only hope that seeing my Mum's eyes in his last moments – that he felt he wasn't alone, then."

McGonagall nodded, pushing back tears and becoming the business-like, level-headed witch she usually was and started helping Harry. When the body was wrapped tightly, they carefully levitated it unto a stretcher the Transfiguration Teacher made from the rubble in the Shack.

Harry took a black satin sheet from his pack and carefully draped it over the body.

"Ron and Hermione are waiting outside," he said, "we will not take him back through the tunnel, secretly and hushed up. We will bring him out to the Hogsmeade end of the Shack. A number of Order members are there to escort him back to the castle with honour."

That shocked the Headmistress. "You've arranged that?" she asked.

"Yes," Harry replied grimly, "I know that there is nothing we can do for him anymore – he will not know that we did this for him. When he was alive he longed for recognition and appreciation like any other human being – why else was an Order of Merlin so important to him? It is too late, but we owe it to him. Not doing it would mean not paying off the largest debt we owe."

When they stepped outside, levitating their burden between them, they noticed that the fences to the Shack had been removed and a large crowd was waiting. A road had been created, and on either side of it Order members stood, dressed in black. Students of Hogwarts made up the rest of the crowd.

Hermione and Ginny stepped in front of the bier, leaving Harry and McGonagall to flank it. They drew their wands and white lilies fell on the road. Luna stepped forward and laid one lily on the body's chest. Behind them, Order members fell in line, followed by the students.

The procession went through Hogsmeade and slowly walked up to the castle, every single person in solemn silence as they finally brought Severus Snape home.

ssssssssssssssssssssssss

**Scene two**

Minerva McGonagall walked sadly though the dusty, dark tunnel leading up to the Shrieking Shack. Harry had spent hours explaining everything to her, going over his talk with Albus at King's Cross – it had to have been Albus, no one else would have chosen such a ridiculous location for such an important talk – and giving her a censored version of the memories he had been given by Severus before he died.

Severus…that poor boy. She shook her head, the guilt welling up inside her. At the time it seemed like the logical thing to do, drive him out of Hogwarts. And all this time, all the time they thought he was their enemy, he had been working so hard to keep them all safe. With a deep sigh she had to admit to herself that they had misjudged him, and possibly had since the day he was Sorted.

Now all that was left was retrieve his body, all she could do was take care of him until his funeral. Tears welled up in her eyes as she reached the door she remembered so well from years of walking Remus, poor dead Remus, to this place for his transformations. At least Remus had died alongside his wife, secure and loved. Not alone like the last of the children she was going to bring home now.

She pushed the door open and stared at the spot where Harry had told her the body lay. It was not there. Blinking against the tears and the dim light, she took a hesitant step forward. There seemed to be blood on the floor, but no body.

A cry nearly escaped her lips when she saw something move in the far corner, on the bed. She nearly turned and ran then, but her sense of duty kept her firmly in place.

"Please," she heard her own raspy voice, "Please – if you have moved him – tell me where he is. I need to find him, and bring him home…"

The figure slowly got up and walked towards her, not threateningly, but slowly and with effort, like an old man or someone suffering from fatigue.

"Please," she repeated, "If you moved his body, tell me where it is."

"Minerva…"

Her brain froze and for long seconds she knew nothing, nothing at all. Then she flung herself forwards and embraced the dirty, smelly form in front of her.

Severus, completely taken aback by her words and the embrace, had no choice but to close his arms around her if he wanted them to stay upright. Minerva again found her vision swimming with tears, but this time out of happiness as she vowed not to let him out of her sight for a long, long time.


	8. Dark Alleys

**I can't seem to shake myself loose from the kidfics. I'm doing this as a plot bunny for now but I think at some point it will develop into a story. AU. **

The continent was a wonderful place to be, Albus Dumbledore decided as he walked down the magical street that led to the Muggle entrance. This holiday was indeed much overdue. About a hundred years, actually, but life had been so busy!

First there was Grindelwald, and then the first war with Tom. A brief respite was all they got before that war flared up again and when young Harry finally defeated him, there was so much rebuilding to do…

But now Harry wasn't young anymore, at least not by his own standards, the Wizarding World was rebuilt and thriving, Hogwarts was in safe hands now that Neville was the Headmaster – there was no reason whatsoever that he couldn't finally have a vacation.

It was also nice to be away from the memories. At over hundred and seventy years old, he had seen everyone that died in the wars grow up. He had known them as small children, and seen them grow to perform great feats, for good and for ill. Sometimes he did not know for which group he mourned more.

By necessity, he had long ago needed to let the past rest – wondering about the fates of the children they had not found after the final battle, because they had been fighting in the forbidden forest where the meat of the fallen had been a welcome source of food for the Acromantulas. The spiders had, at his request, returned any of the bones that they had been able to, but it was impossible to decide which bone belonged to which missing person. In the end, they had simply buried them all into one large grave. At least two dozen students rested in that grave, along with, ironically, their potions master. The last person most of the children would want to spend eternity with, though Dumbledore still missed him terribly.

But these were happier times. New children were being born every day, families lived happier than they had in over a century. Why, only recently had Harry's eldest son entrusted to him that his girlfriend and he were about to get engaged. Oh, to be young again!

Strolling through the dusky streets, for one moment he thought it was his memory that created the soft cry he heard. Shaking himself from his daze, he almost smiled at his own antics when the sound repeated. Clearly.

On some cardboard, in a corner of an abandoned alley, the soft sound had caught the attention of a few stray cats, though they stayed at a safe distance.

Dumbledore cautiously approached. "Lumos," he softly said. And was shocked into silence at the sight of the crying infant that lay there.

"Oh dear. Oh dear, dear child, what has happened to you?" He gently picked the child up. The baby was naked, so he could easily identify it as a boy. Wrapping his cloak around the infant, he looked around. No trace of parents whatsoever, but his magic sense told him that this was a wizard child. A Muggleborn, abandoned by his parents for accidental magic? But the child couldn't be more than a month old, far too young for accidental magic. Magical parents then, who suspected the boy was a Squib? Most likely, though it really was far too early to tell.

The baby snuggled into the soft lining of his cloak and he shook his head. The child needed caring for. They would find out who he was and how he came to be there later on.

He brought the child for a quick check-up to the MediWizard facility nearby, and when they declared the child was healthy enough to go, he had gotten nappies and an outfit. Putting the child in a sling rider he had transfigured from a sheet he started the journey home.

The baby was little trouble. Occasionally the dark blue eyes, which the nurses had cooed over and assured him they would turn black over the next weeks, peeked up, and a small hand nestled in his beard.

"Well, my little man," Dumbledore kissed the soft black fuzz on the head, "I can't Apparate with you, and I'm sure you'll regurgitate your breakfast if I try a Portkey. I suppose we'll have to do things the Muggle way.

That's how he found himself on the train through the Channel. From there he would take the Hogwarts Express. Poppy Pomfrey would be able to care for the infant while he searched for the parents.

ssssssssss

The Express was empty this time of the year, of course, and Dumbledore did not mind one bit. He transfigured the seats into a comfortable bed, the table into a crib and the baby and he were soon settled for the night.

Taking the child in the crook of his arm, he got out the bottle the Muggle store had given him, with the formula they assured him was best for a child this age. With a slight warming charm, it was perfect for the child to eat.

The baby attacked the bottle eagerly, one hand on Dumbledore's as if to make sure he wouldn't remove the nipple from the small mouth.

"Hungry, were you?" Dumbledore smiled softly, "you are such a sweet baby. If only you could tell me your name. For now, I will lend you one of mine. I have plenty. I will call you Brian."

Brian reacted with nothing more than a slight burp before he continued to drink down his dinner.

Afterwards, Dumbledore changed his nappy and spent a few moments cuddling the baby. The child seemed to enjoy laying on the big bed, free to move his arms and legs after the long day in the sling rider, and the old man watched him in contentment.

"Do you want a bedtime story?" he asked.

The baby looked at him very seriously, as if understanding the question.

"Alright, then," Dumbledore took the child in his arms, close to his face, rubbing his nose against the soft baby cheek.

"Once upon a time, in a land far, far away…"

The baby slept long before Snow White had even met the Seven Dwarfs, but Dumbledore finished the story anyway. Brian felt warm and content in his arms and for a long moment the old man lamented never having had a family of his own. He had students, of course, a few even over the many decades that had come close to being children of his heart, but they always were already eleven when they came.

This baby was so young, so innocent. With a sigh he placed the youngster in the crib and crawled into his own bed, intent on getting a few hours sleep before they would reach Hogsmeade Station in the early morning.

Brian slept well and didn't even wake when Dumbledore transferred him to the sling rider once more for the walk up to the castle. Once there, he went straight to the infirmary, where Poppy still ruled with an iron fist.

"Albus! Back so soon? Oh dear sweet Merlin, what have you gotten yourself into now?"

"This is Brian," the Headmaster informed her, transferring the baby to a bed, "I found him abandoned. Will you take care of him here while I search for his family?"

The witch was already casting diagnostic spells, as Dumbledore had suspected she would. What he had not expected was for her to faint. He was barely in time to prevent her breaking her skull on the hard floor.

"Poppy!"

Ennervate did work, fortunately, and slowly the witch crawled back into the land of the conscious.

"What happened?" Dumbledore asked in concern.

"Albus…I don't know how…or when…or…it's impossible, but there's no mistake…not after all the times he's been here, I know his signature anywhere. Oh Albus…"

The tough nurse began to cry. The Headmaster, confused, stared at the baby.

"Poppy? What is it? What do you know about Brian?"

The nurse looked up at him. "Albus, that's not Brian – that is Severus!"


	9. Neville's Revenge

**This one is for SomeGuyFawkes, as a compromise.**

Neville studied the bloodied sword with interest.

"You know, this year has been strange to the extreme," he commented to Luna, "I never thought it possible that I would do the things that came so naturally this year."

"You always had them in you," she smiled, "they grew a little more each year until you were ready."

"I guess," Neville leaned over to kiss the Ravenclaw, "I will not doubt my own worth anymore, that's for sure. I AM worth ten of Malfoy."

"Hmmm," was the only comment from his girlfriend, who did nothing but pull his head closer for another kiss.

sssssssss

Severus Snape sat in Spinner's End, brooding. The Shrieking Shack, where he nearly died, had been burned down, Hogwarts was still closed and while Harry Potter had redeemed his reputation and kept him out of Azkaban, the Ministry certainly wasn't going to reward him.

A freelance Potions maker wouldn't be a bad career. He WAS good at his job so he could probably earn a decent income. Over time perhaps even find an apprentice, someone truly talented, unlike the little dunderheads at Hogwarts who had no appreciation at all for a properly brewed potion.

How could he not have heard the front door open? Still, there it was, open, and a dark shadow standing in his room.

"Snape."

"Who…who dares?" he demanded.

"I dare, Snape," the hood was pushed back and he looked into the face of Neville Longbottom.

"You? What are you doing here?"

"Time for reckoning, Snape. To teach you a lesson."

The young man's face was determined, his eyes hard, and for the first time since meeting him so long ago, Snape felt a stab of fear.

"Potter…Potter cleared me of all charges…" his voice sounded pathetic even to his own ears.

"Oh, but you see, you loved his mother. Harry has a soft spot for people who loved his mother. I say you obsessed over her, but who am I? If someone came forth claiming they love MY mother I may do the same…but this is not about the war, Snape. Those charges have been dropped and who knows, Harry probably has a point that you have redeemed yourself. No – this is about something else."

"What do you mean?"

"You'll see," was the curt reply.

A hand moved towards his head and Snape knew only darkness.

When he woke, he was in the strangest room he'd ever seen. It was full of Muggle equipment. Some of it he recognized vaguely – his father did teach him some things. There was a television, though it had no buttons. There were all kinds of odds and ends.

"Hermione was kind enough to help me with this," Neville said behind him, "beautiful, isn't it? Endless possibilities – wizards really have nothing on Muggle technology, you know."

"I'm sure," Snape muttered, looking around him for a door and fumbling for his wand. It wasn't there.

"Oh, don't bother," Neville waved his hand casually, "you are not going anywhere."

"Now. Go to that computer and download Photoshop. Import an image from my hard disk, create a banner from it, hook up the printer and install it. Then print your banner."

Snape stared at him. Computer he understood – but those were huge apparatus only scientists used. What was 'download'? And what disk?

"Well? Get going!"

He tentatively looked around. "What…what is the computer?"

"Must I spell it all out for you? I gave you the instructions, now do it!"

"But I don't know what the computer is!" Snape protested indignantly.

"Are you that stupid? It's right in front of you, on the desk!"

Finally Snape saw a rectangular box next to something that looked like a very flat tv screen.

"How…how do I turn it on?"

"Figure it out," Neville said.

Pressing one of the buttons on the device, a light started burning on the bottom of the tv screen, but nothing else happened.

The box, perhaps. One more button and the box started to make noise.

He pressed the button again. The thing ceased making noise.

There was a noise like a whip crack and suddenly pain shot through his back. He screamed in surprise.

Neville put his wand back in its holster. "I can't take points from you, but I can certainly make this painful. I expect a perfectly printed banner when I come back in half an hour. If it is not ready…"

He waved his wand again. "Every time you screw up you get another lash like that."

With that, he stepped out of the room, leaving a desperate Snape behind.

Hermione was waiting for him.

"Neville! Torturing him?"

"It will hurt him now, but the pain from the first lash is already fading. No welt will show. My grandmother taught me the spell. It was used on children up until fifty years ago, at home and at Hogwarts. It won't harm him."

"But it hurts!"

Neville sighed. "Can you honestly say, Hermione, that he doesn't deserve it?"

The young woman shook her head in resignation.

sssssssss

His back was aching fiercely. He recognized the spell now – his mother had often used it on him as a child, when she did notice him. While the sting from one lash faded quickly, he had gotten over two dozen in the last half hour and he still had no idea how the thing worked. There were a list of instructions next to the thing.

Turn it on – check

Start up Internet Explorer – what the hell was that? And how was he supposed to start it up?

Use mouse and keyboard to navigate. – Now why did Muggles use small rodents in computers? Not to mention some device to keep their keys?

He was close to tears when Neville stepped back into the room.

"Well?"

"I…This is hardly an achievable exercise!" Snape protested, "I do not know what a computer is, how it works and what a 'mouse' is for!"

"Idiot!" Neville hissed, "Lazing about, did you?"

"NO!" Snape stepped back, "I just did not understand! I am not familiar with this equipment."

"You failed," Neville said calmly, "Do you not agree?"

"Yes, but you did not provide me with the necessary information!"

"Did I not tell you what I expected from you? Did I not leave a list with instructions?"

Snape shrank. "May I leave now?"

"Leave? Heavens, no. You will be here for five years, until you've mastered every piece of equipment in the room. Though I doubt you will."

sssssssss

A month of pain. Not constant – he had to admit he was given food and allowed to sleep. But his waking hours were spent trying to master the computer, to fulfil the impossible tasks set before him. If he failed, the spell would be quick to punish. Neville occasionally stopped by to yell or sneer at his lack of progress.

Neville felt tired. Though part of him felt satisfaction, even glee at seeing the man in this predicament, it wasn't in him to hurt people, or make them desperate. He would never be able to keep this up for five whole years.

Nor, he suspected, could Snape. It had taken him a while to figure that one out – after all, the man had been a servant of Voldemort for much longer, taking punishment and horrors that truly made his spell look like child's play. Finally he realized – Snape had a goal back then. He always knew why things happened to him and why he was doing what he did. Now, he had no idea. The man didn't know when it would end or what he could do to make it stop. He should have realized, really – wasn't the psychological damage the man did to him much worse than the pain from the accidents he had over the years?

When he entered the room, the teacher he once feared, who had loomed over him now recoiled to the corner of the room. Not entirely broken, as Neville once had been aiming for, but certainly brought down a few pegs.

"I tried," Snape defended himself with a slight hint of panic in his voice, "I attempted…"

"I know," Neville said, "and you failed, as usual."

Snape only nodded, and braced himself for the pain.

"You know, this was how I felt every single class of yours," Neville stroked the computer, "a set of instructions I didn't understand, punishment for doing something wrong when I had no idea what exactly it was I should have done differently, no idea whatsoever."

"What is there to understand about a Potions recipe? You were not required to invent your own, just follow the directions on the board!" Snape exclaimed.

"To you, it was that easy," Neville admitted, "Here."

He sat down behind the computer, and fifteen minutes later he had a banner rolling out of the printer.

"See? If you know how it works, there's nothing to it. But you have to understand first."

Snape sat on the cold floor, his knees pulled up to his chest, his arms around them. He looked up at the young man.

"Are you going to kill me?"

"No," Neville bit his lip, "I intended to keep you prisoner like this for five years. The time you tormented me. But I am not going to do it. That spell, belittling you - I simply can't stand myself anymore. You may go. I'll take you back to your house."

Five minutes later, a bewildered Snape found himself back in his sitting room at Spinner's End, wondering if it had all been a horrid dream.

Neville Longbottom, relieved and free of the ghosts of his past, found his Luna, dropped to one knee and offered her his lifelong devotion to their happily ever after.


	10. Cauldron Bubble

**Another kidfic, but I took a break from my usual Dumbledore/Harry caretaker duo. With sincere apologies to SomeGuyFawkes.**

It was the summer holidays, and Neville Longbottom had harvested a new crop of future potions ingredients. He often sold them to the apothecary, and sent interesting specimens off to Professor Sprout, but this batch he had grown for his own use. Encouraged by Hermione, he decided that if he could practice potions on his own, he would likely learn more than he would in class.

So after a pleasantly quiet hour preparing his harvest and slicing up other ingredients, he started a cauldron and proceeded to brew.

"Hmmm…two teaspoons of powdered bicorn horn…" he muttered. In the background he vaguely heard voices; his grandmother probably was having one of her annoyingly boring tea parties again. At least he could always play the 'homework' card to get out of those.

"Now this is where things went wrong last time. Instead of counting clockwise, I should probably stir counter clockwise and add more slowly…"

The door to his room flew open.

"Neville dear, look who is here!" His grandmother announced grandly, "Professor Snape stopped by on Order business and I am sure he would not mind giving you a few pointers for your…oops."

The old lady hit Neville's arm and he dropped the entire phial he was holding into the cauldron.

"No!" he quickly grabbed for something to counter the effects, but it was too late. The cauldron began to boil and potion splashed all over the room. His grandmother stepped back, tripped over a crate of ingredients and fell to the floor, leaving Snape to take the full brunt of the splash.

"Quickly, the…" was all the dark man managed before the explosion filled the room.

Neville scrambled back on his feet. "Grandmother? Are you alright?"

A low moan was his only answer, along with a high pitched whimper from the other corner.

His grandmother lay unconscious on the floor, one arm in a strange angle and one of her feet sticking up straight while the other was laying sideways on the floor.

From a bundle of black robes where Snape had stood, two huge, dark eyes regarded Neville anxiously. The cloth pooled around the tiny body of a child with black hair, a relatively large nose on the small face, and oddly pleading eyes. The child did not cry, but shrank back as if expecting Neville to shout at him.

"S..Snape?" Neville whispered.

"Me Seb'rus," the boy whimpered, "where is I?"

Neville thought for one moment he would faint. Then he turned to his fireplace, where an artificial, non-warming fire was kept for communication purposes, and threw in a handful of floo powder.

"LUNA! I need you!" he shouted into it.

Within moments, the blond witch appeared and surveyed the room. "Oh dear."

"Help," Neville pleaded.

"Where is Seb'rus?" the child whimpered, his chin trembling a little, though he did not cry.

"Hello," Luna said, holding her hand out to the child, "I am Luna. Neville needs to call St Mungo's so the healers can take care of his grandmother," she shot Neville an encouraging look and he turned to the jar of powder to do just that, "we will go into the living room and find you a drink."

The boy hesitated, but eventually took her hand and stumbled along with her, the long robes hindering him.

Neville called in the Healers, who took one look at his grandmother and immediately started to stabilize her to take her to the hospital. Neville came with her through the Floo. The Healer in charge informed him, after an hour's wait, that his grandmother had broken both her arm and her hip, on top of suffering a severe concussion. She would recover, but had to stay in the hospital for some time.

"She is an old lady," the Healer explained, "we have set the bones, but the concussion needs attention and she needs daily potions to strengthen her bone structure so the breaks won't remain weak points. Rest assured, she will be fine given time and proper care. You can see her for a few minutes now."

Neville hated the sight of his grandmother on the white bed, not moving, her face pale and withdrawn. He kissed her cheek. "Get well soon, Gran," he whispered.

Then he returned to his other potions victim.

Luna had entertained the boy by first giving him something to drink, then searching the closets and finding a box of Neville's old robes where she found one that fit the child, and after that entertained him by telling stories of fascinating magical creatures. The boy was giggling when Luna impersonated a crumple horned snorkack, but immediately quieted and withdrew when Neville entered the room.

Neville stared at the child, once his feared potions master. The little boy sitting on his couch had very little in common with the Professor, though, except in the dark hair and black eyes.

"Hello," he said wearily, "we did not get a chance to properly introduce ourselves, did we? I am Neville."

Severus looked at Luna, who nodded brightly, still pretending to be a snorkack.

"Hi Nebul," he whispered, "I is Seb'rus."

"How old are you, Severus?" Neville asked.

"I is this many!" Severus proudly held up three fingers, "I is a big boy."

"Yes, you are," Neville absentmindedly agreed, "Listen, Severus, I need to talk to Luna for a bit. Here," he handed the child the Illustrated Herbologist's Guide, "why don't you read this magazine while we're busy."

Severus accepted the magazine gracefully and began to turn pages.

Neville pulled Luna aside and gave her his best 'helpless male' look. "What do we do now?" he asked.

Luna smiled. "You look after him, of course. The potion will wear off on its own in a few weeks."

"Couldn't St Mungo's do anything for him?"

The witch shrugged. "They could lock him in a room and wait for the potion to wear off. You don't expect them to have time to entertain a toddler, do you? Besides, the hospital is infected with Bulbasaur."

Neville, through long experience, knew not to ask what a Bulbasaur was.

"Well, Gran is gone a few weeks. I suppose he could stay here. The elves will help look after him," he sighed.

"I'm going to look after a babySnape. This must be a dream. Pinch me, Luna!"

The witch proceeded to do just that, causing Neville to yelp indignantly. From the couch, Severus smirked contently.


	11. Namesake

Harry's sixth year had progressed halfway through and things were going well. He was far more in control of his emotions and he found, buried deep inside, suppressed by years of worry and Dursleys, his sense of humour and an ability to relax.

He frequently visited the kitchen, reproaching himself for being so ungrateful to Dobby who had been looking our for him for so long. Granted, having Dobby look out for you could on occasion be hazardous, but the elf meant well and would never willingly endanger him. Winky, too, had recovered once she and Dobby became an item and she had someone to fuss over again in Harry.

Then, the night before Valentine's Day, Harry was shaken from his peaceful slumber by an agitated Dobby.

"Harry Potter sir! Wake up please sir!"

"Ungh?" Harry replied drowsily. "Dobby?"

"Harry Potter sir must come with Dobby," the elf insisted, dragging Harry from the bed.

"Alright, alright, I'm coming," Harry quickly pulled on his nightgown and slippers and followed Dobby down to the kitchens, into the corridor that led to the House Elf rooms.

Inside the room that Dobby and Winky shared, a sweaty, groaning Winky looked up at them.

"YOUS DID THIS TO WINKY, YOU BAD DOBBY!" she screamed.

Harry raised his eyebrow. "Eh, Dobby?"

"Winky is having an elfling, Harry Potter sir," Dobby explained, taking Winky's hand and wincing when it was nearly crushed, "but Dobby thinks it is not going well. Dobby didn't know what to do! The great and wise Harry Potter…"

"Is not so very great and certainly not wise," Harry interrupted. "Do you have any midwives or healer elves, Dobby?"

"They lives far away in St Mungos and Dobby is not allowed to leave castle without permission!" the elf wailed.

"Then I give you permission," Harry said quickly, "go get help, Dobby. Quickly."

Within minutes Dobby returned with an elderly house elf who took one look at Winky before shooing Harry and Dobby out.

The two were left to pace the kitchen, until finally, near dawn, a soft wailing reached their ears.

"Yous can come in now," the midwife said fifteen minutes later, "it is being a boy."

Dobby nearly ricochet off the walls in happiness and Harry drug him along inside, where he immediately flew to Winky's site. Winky was laying tired but with a blissful expression in the bed, a tiny bundle in her arms.

"A beautiful elfling it is," Dobby breathed.

"Harry Potter sir, Dobby and Winky would be honoured if Harry Potter would be the godfather…but Harry Potter is such a great wizard…"

"I'd love to, Dobby," Harry assured him quickly, "I'm so proud you chose me! Can I, you know…see him?"

He motioned to the bundle.

Dobby got up and placed the tiny elf in Harry's arms. It was no bigger than a newborn kitten and extremely ugly, at least in Harry's book. It had a large, curved nose and a sickly green-white skin. The ears were folded against the head, making it seem like there weren't any at all. Like all elf babies, the midwife told him, this one had a tuft of damp black hair on its head that would fall out by the time it was a year old.

"Harry Potter sir, it is elf custom that the godfather be choosing the name," Winky said softly.

"Oh – " Harry stared at the ugly, but somehow still cute little creature.

"Alright…I have an idea for a name, if you and Winky agree…"

ssssssss

"Ah, Severus. I hear I must congratulate you."

"Congratulate me? What occasion would warrant any well-wishes, Headmaster? My birthday was last month."

The old man's eyes twinkled merrily. "Well, my boy, it seems you have acquired a namesake last night."

The raised eyebrow he got at this statement made the Headmaster suspect that Severus was ignorant of his recent acquisition.

"Dobby and Winky became parents this night…such a delight, young elflings…and they named Harry as godfather. As you know, it is custom among elves to let the godfather pick the name…"

As a matter of fact, Snape did NOT know this, but he wasn't about to let that out.

"And what does that have to do with me?"

"Well, Severus, it seems Harry decided to honour you when picking a name. Hogwarts' newest House Elf is named 'Snapey'."

The terrifying roar could be heard from the dungeons to the towers- "_**POOOOTTERRRRR**_!!!!"


	12. Graffity

"Do you know why the Headmaster called us all to the Great Hall before we leave, Luna

"Do you know why the Headmaster called us all to the Great Hall before we leave, Luna?"

"Yes, Neville."

"Why is the Headmaster calling us all to the Great Hall before we leave, Luna?"

"Why, because of…"

Just before the young witch could answer, the Headmaster stood up and cast a stern glance over the assembled students.

"There is a time to joke, and there is a time for jokes to cease," he began.

"There are appropriate pranks, and there are pranks that go too far. The one this morning definitely is of the latter category. So I want to invite the person who thought it necessary to magically paint 'I guard an Arsehole' in bright neon paint on the Gargoyle guarding my office to come forward before leaving for the station. Thank you."

The suppressed snickers from all four tables told the Headmaster that perhaps it had not been the wisest choice to make this announcement so public. He sighed and watched the students leave. Severus did not attempt to hide his own smirk.

"Stop laughing," Dumbledore frowned, "you must know which of your students did this."

"My students, Headmaster? Why would any of my students have done this? This prank is more the Weasley twins style of pranking."

"It is a thoughtless prank, and your House is the only one with reason to do something like this!" 

"Really Headmaster? Well, leaving aside the _interesting_ issue of why this particular prank went too far while exploding cauldrons and leading people into the gaping mauls of werewolves do not, you did explain to me last night, at length I might add, why it was completely justified to add those last minute points to Gryffindor."

"Of course. They deserved points for preventing Voldemort acquiring the Stone."

"Of course. Then under those circumstances, it would be impossible in your own view for Slytherin to hold this against you, as it was, as you say, so completely justified. Therefore there is no more reason to believe it was a Slytherin who…decorated…your Gargoyle than a Hufflepuff, or a Ravenclaw, or Merlin forbid, even a Gryffindor."

With a slight huff, Dumbledore turned around to see if Filch had made any progress removing the paint.

"Severus?" Minerva watched her younger colleague intently, "I am certain you did not lie when you said none of your children were responsible."

"I do not believe I said that, Minerva. I said there was no more reason to suspect my House than there is to suspect yours. Thank you again, however, for your support last night."

"You know you are very welcome. I want to win the House Cup as much as you, but not in this manner. Severus…"

"Yes, Minerva?"

"There is a spot of bright neon paint on the hem of your robes."

The Slytherin smirked at her. "Oh dear. I must have brushed past the Gargoyle. How careless of me."

With a large grin on his face, he left for the dungeons, leaving the shocked witch speechless.


	13. Form Stability

"Harry Potter

"Harry Potter."

The Hall was silent, and a shocked Harry Potter sat staring at the Headmaster.

"Come on up, please, Harry," Dumbledore said, clearly not amused.

Not knowing what else to do, Harry went up and into the chamber with the other participants in the Triwizard Tournament, but inside his mind was working frantically.

Finally the others came into the room. After much discussion and general doubt that he had put his own name in the Goblet, Mr Crouch declared that he would have to participate. Harry frowned.

"Excuse me, Mr Crouch?" he asked the man politely.

"Yes?"

"I have a question – the age line, that was a precaution for this tournament only, isn't it? I mean, it isn't an official rule, is it?"

"I knew he had put his own name in," Fleur muttered, chagrined.

"What do you mean, Harry?" Dumbledore asked.

Harry didn't react to any of them, but looked at Mr Crouch expectantly.

"It was a precaution for this tournament after much fatalities in underage students in earlier years," Mr Crouch responded absentmindedly.

"I see. Well, Cedric and Victor and Fleur are all of age, so it doesn't apply to them," Harry kept his eye on the seemingly absentminded official, "but didn't underage participants have to get permission from their parents or guardians to participate?"

The Headmaster startled. "Harry, you heard, it is an official contract. I'm afraid you will just have to…"

"I'm sorry Headmaster," Harry frowned, "Am I to understand that I could not go to Hogsmeade in my third year because my guardians would not sign the permission form, but I AM allowed to close a contract to participate in a potentially lethal competition without their consent? That does not make sense."

From the corner of his eye, he saw Severus Snape smirk with barely concealed surprise at this turn of events while Moody looked annoyed for some reason.

"Indeed the underage participant needs permission from his legal guardians before putting his or her name in the Goblet," Mr Crouch confirmed.

"See? There it is. I do not have my guardian's permission even if I HAD put my name in the goblet, so there can be no binding magical contract."

"Your guardians are allowed to give their permission even now," Mr Crouch continued, "but it must be done within twenty-four hours."

"Very well, Harry, you will have to go to your relatives and have them sign a permission form," the Headmaster decided.

"I don't see why," Harry replied, "you were obviously unhappy when my name came out of the goblet. Why not leave me out of it and not bother the Dursleys?"

"They must be asked," Dumbledore insisted.

"If I may, Headmaster, I propose that I escort Potter to his family tomorrow morning," Snape pushed forward, "so we can resolve this issue."

ssssssssss

The next day, Snape Apparated them both to the Dursley residence.

"If I may ask you a favour, professor," Harry asked politely, "would you kindly try to persuade my relatives that I do not wish to participate in this tournament."

Snape narrowed his eyes. "Chickening out, Potter? You should have thought of that before you put your name in that infernal piece of china."

He rang the bell, and Vernon, dressed for work, opened the door.

"What are YOU doing here, boy?" he barked.

"Mr Dursley, an…issue has arisen at school," Snape began, "it will take only a few moments of your time."

Vernon, guessing correctly that he was dealing with an adult wizard here, though it wise to oblige the man.

Once inside, Snape began the explanation. "Your nephew has entered his name for a competition without asking for your permission first. He would love to participate, but such is only allowed with written permission from his guardians, as he is underage. So if you would kindly sign this form, we shall be on our way."

Vernon narrowed his eyes. "Would love to participate, eh? Is that the truth, boy?"

Harry meekly nodded. "Yes, Uncle Vernon. Will you please sign the form?"

He felt Snape's shocked gaze on his back, but kept his eyes to the floor. Looking Uncle Vernon in the eye always was a dangerous business.

"I'd like to speak to him for a few moments alone, please," Vernon nodded to Petunia, "his aunt and I need to discuss this."

"Of course," Snape had no choice but to back into the hallway.

"What is this competition?" Vernon growled.

"The Triwizard Tournament, Uncle Vernon," Harry said truthfully, knowing it would upset his uncle even more to use the full name.

"Don't mention w…w…THAT in our house!" Petunia hissed.

"I'm sorry, Aunt Petunia," Harry replied, "Please – I have to do three tasks and compete with three other students. I am the only one underage so I need your permission."

Vernon got a nasty grin on his face. "No, no, I don't think I will give it," he stated.

"But Uncle!" Harry began.

Severus was ushered back in.

"We will not grant our permission," Vernon declared, "he is too young. The others are of age, I understand."

Snape glowered. "The Headmaster…"

"I am the boy's aunt and guardian," Petunia spoke up, "We will not sign. Now leave, please."

Two minutes later, they were walking in search of a quiet alley to Apparate.

"You deceived me, Potter," Snape said, but he didn't sound awfully angry.

"I knew you would do the opposite of what I asked," Harry shrugged, "and I knew that if I seemed eager to participate, Uncle Vernon would refuse to sign. Making me happy is something he tries to avoid at all costs. You didn't really think I want to risk injury and possible death, do you, sir? Trouble usually comes looking for ME, why would I start looking for it the one time I can avoid it?"

"That was…" Snape swallowed, "that was almost Slytherin of you, Potter."

Harry smirked. "Thank you, sir. At least now I can sit back and enjoy watching Cedric win Hogwarts the Cup."

With a crack they returned to the castle to deliver the good news.


	14. Bow or Break

A/N Another plot bunny that jumped into my head

**A/N Another plot bunny that jumped into my head. Not a happy one! Be warned. Also, not for Sirius lovers.**

"You will have to take him, I'm afraid."

Sirius Black scowled heavily at the ancient wizard. "I most certainly will not."

"Sirius, we really have no other choice. It will only be for a few weeks."

Before the Animagus could retort angrily, a knock on the door heralded the arrival of another visitor.

"Ah, Harry," the Headmaster greeted the boy, "do sit down. We have some things to discuss."

"Yes, Professor," Harry flashed a grin at Sirius.

"As you probably have noticed, Harry, Professor Snape has had a minor mishap with one of his experiments," Dumbledore began.

"It was rather hard to miss, Sir," Harry smiled weakly.

"Indeed," Dumbledore's eyes winkled merrily, "there is a rather…ah…significant difference…"

"He's six bloody years old!" Sirius burst out, "so instead of a big greasy git he is now a small greasy git. I am NOT taking him!"

Harry raised an eyebrow. The Headmaster sighed, ignoring Sirius for the moment.

"Fortunately, an antidote is available. Regrettably, the only person holding the patent and capable of brewing it on such short notice is in the United States. Thus it will be a fortnight, perhaps three weeks before it arrives here. Severus will have to stay somewhere safe during that period, and Grimmauld Place is the obvious choice. I know your godfather and yourself were going to spend Christmas together at the house, and I simply ask that you take Severus along with you."

"And I already told you no!" Sirius banged his fist on the table.

"Siri, he is only six years old," Harry pointed out rather unnecessarily, "he is, isn't he, Headmaster?"

"You will find that he is very much a six years old child, Harry, though he has retained some memories of his adult life."

Harry turned to his godfather. "Honestly, Siri, how much trouble can a child be?" he asked.

Sirius was about to snap at his godson when he paused and seemed to think for a moment. Then he sagged back into the chair.

"Oh alright," he practically pouted, "but I don't want the entire Order on my doorstep constantly to interfere with us! I promised Harry a nice, quiet Christmas with me and I don't want that taken away by an endless throng of people who insist on coming over to push unwanted advice down our throats."

"I understand," the blue eyes twinkled merrily, "and I'm sure you will gain a new understanding for Severus in these weeks. Who knows, perhaps you will even grow to enjoy having him around."

"Not bloody likely," Sirius muttered, "but alright. Bring in the brat."

Dumbledore opened the door to his private rooms and a few minutes later, coaxed out a wary looking, small black haired boy.

"Severus, this is Sirius and that is Harry. You will be staying with them until your medicine is ready."

The boy looked at them and turned around. "NO! Noooo, I don't wanna stay with them!"

Dumbledore grabbed a bony shoulder and spun the child back. "Don't be silly, my dear boy. You cannot stay here on your own and I have too much work to do. Sirius, I will give you some money to owl-order him an outfit or two."

"I'm not going, I'm not!" Severus stamped his feet, "you can't MAKE ME!"

"You just watch, you ill-tempered monster," Sirius held the small arm in a strong grip and simply dragged the child into the Floo. "Grimmauld Place," he yelled and disappeared with his charge. Dumbledore looked slightly concerned, but quickly changed to his customary smile when he faced Harry.

"Well, my boy, I hope you will have a delightful holiday," with that, Harry felt himself dismissed to go find Sirius and the small Potions Master. Also taking a fist of floo powder, he relocated himself to Grimmauld Place, where Sirius and Severus were now engaged in a shouting match.

"I'm going to make us some dinner," Harry interrupted the argument, "It will be ready in half an hour. Maybe you should show him where he will sleep, Siri."

Sirius sent one last glare at the boy before he gave a short jerk of his head, indicating he expected the child Snape to follow. Upstairs, he led him to a small room off the hallway. It had a narrow, hard bed.

"Don't expect me to do you any favours just because you are undersized now," he growled, "I expect you to work for your food and stay out of my and Harry's way. Dumbledore made me take you, don't remind me that you are even here if you can help it."

With that, he returned downstairs where Harry had started on a simple dinner of baked potatoes, steak and salad. The table was set for three.

"You don't expect us to eat with that…that…thing, do you Harry?" Sirius shook his head, "I am not going to let his ugly gob ruin my appetite."

"He is a child, he needs to eat," Harry replied.

"Harry, he is SNAPE. He's seven. He's dependant upon us. Now you can get him back for all the misery he caused you."

"Sirius!" Harry looked appalled.

"I'm not saying beating him to a pulp," Sirius reasoned with his godson, "only, let him experience what it is like being on the receiving end for once."

"I think he got plenty of experience being on the receiving end with you and Dad around," Harry retorted, but his voice was hesitant. Sirius noticed and honed in immediately.

"It might do the git some good. We would be doing him a favour. If it makes him nicer to his students, we will be doing generations of young wizards and witches a favour."

Harry shrugged. "All I wanted was a nice quiet Christmas with you – get to know you better."

Sirius slung his arm around his godsons shoulders. "And you will, Harry! I'm not going to let Snivellus take that away from us! Come, lets eat."

"The kid…"

"Save him a plate if you must," Sirius said, unconcerned and unwilling to spare the brat another thought, "we're going to have dinner together and play some Wizard's Chess, okay?"

ssssssssss

Harry frowned when he entered the kitchen for lunch. Severus was standing on a stool, cleaning the stove. When Harry stepped in, the boy looked up, startled and dropped the bucket of water over the floor.

"Clean it up," Harry shrugged, "Did you peel the potatoes?"

"Yes," Severus pointed to a pot on the counter before grabbing a mop to get to work.

"What happened here?" Sirius asked as he entered the kitchen and nearly slipped on the wet floor, "useless twerp! Can't you do anything right? No food for you today!"

"Don't be ridiculous, Sirius," Harry looked pale but his godfather didn't notice, "it was just an accident."

"Accident my arse. He is a no good lazy git, Harry, who is determined to ruin our holidays. I'll be back when the kitchen is clean and lunch is on the table – for the two of us!"

Harry sighed and started preparing lunch. When Severus had wrestled the heavy bucket to the sink, emptied it and put it away, he called the boy over.

"Here," he shoved a stack of sandwiches in his hands, "go to your room and don't let Sirius see you."

The black eyes locked into his and he was uncomfortably reminded of the Potions Master. "Go away," he shouted, "leave me alone!"

The six years old scurried off towards the attic, cradling the precious food.

"I'm going to spend a few days with Ron at the Burrow," Harry announced over lunch. They had already discussed this long before the Holidays and Sirius nodded.

"Gives me time to decorate and hide your presents," he joked.

Harry smiled. Presents. Decorations. Real holiday.

"I'll probably be back before the weekend," he said, grabbing an overnight bag and heading to the Floo.

ssssssss

Severus grabbed his sore head and reeled from the impact. Sirius pulled him up roughly.

"I told you to get these chores done before dinnertime," he snarled, "can't you do anything right?" he slapped the child around again.

"No food for you again, then," he curled his lip, "get out of my sight." He ignored the longing look the boy cast at the food on the table, but he did catch the trembling lip.

"Going to cry again, Snivellus?" he taunted, as he aimed a kick at the small backside. It connected with considerable force and the boy suppressed a yelp. All he could do was make his way upstairs with all haste and not let the man see his tears.

Sirius eyed the table happily. It was perfect. Tonight Harry would be back from the Weasleys, in fact he was expecting his godson any minute now. Sure enough, moments later the Floo opened and Harry stepped out, tanned and smiling brightly.

"Hi Siri," he greeted his godfather, "Molly and Arthur say hello."

Sirius embraced the boy. "I hope you had a good time and a few Quidditch games," he enthused, "come, I have dinner ready, you must tell me all about it."

After a pleasant dinner, Sirius went to take care of a Boggart that had taken up residence in a cellar closet. Harry started the dishes. The dark-haired boy snuck into the kitchen, quietly helping with the plates.

"Throw that away," Harry instructed, but the boy held on to the plate with a few pathetic leftovers.

"Please?" he begged.

Harry frowned. He knew that look all too well. On impulse, he grabbed a clean plate, put some food from the pans onto it and shoved it into the child's hands.

"Leftovers are for dogs," he said, not knowing Sirius had told the child the same thing on the few occasions he had allowed him a few scraps of food, "Sit and eat this."

Severus dug into the food, shovelling it into his mouth with his bare hands, afraid that it would be taken away from him again. Sure enough, Sirius soon entered the kitchen and glared at the boy.

"Shall we play a game of chess, Harry?" he asked, "you go set up the game, I'll finish this."

As soon as his godson left the kitchen with a slightly wary glance, he pulled the plate away from the boy and grabbed him by the scruff of his neck.

"Obnoxious little beast," he shook the boy, "disgusting snake."

He dragged the boy upstairs and shoved him under a cold shower, clothes and all. Then he threw him into his room and locked the door.

"Tomorrow is Christmas. I MAY let you out the day after, if I don't hear a thing from you until then," he threatened.

It would be four days before the boy was let out to do his chores.

sssssssssss

By the end of the holidays, Sirius, Harry and the small Potions Master returned to Dumbledore's office where the antidote had finally arrived.

"Ah, hello my boys," he greeted merrily, "It seems you will have to say goodbye already."

He motioned the child closer and handed him a vial. Severus drank it down. His body shimmered and shortly afterwards the adult Snape stood where the child had been. Dark eyes regarded the Headmaster dispassionately, devoid of any emotion.

"That went well," Dumbledore nodded, pleased. "Now, I think you have something to say to Sirius and Harry, don't you, Severus?"

"Go to hell, Black," Severus said, not vindictive or snarling, but calm and without any feeling at all.

"SEVERUS!" Dumbledore thundered.

"He hit me. He starved me," Severus hardly moved.

"Severus! What a horrible thing to say," Dumbledor exclaimed, "apologise immediately."

"He…he abused me," the Potions Master turned to his mentor with a pleading look in his eyes.

"Of course not," Dumbledore shook his head, "Sirius would never do anything to a child. You owe him and Harry your gratitude for sacrificing their holiday for you. A thank you would be appropriate."

The Potions Masters eyes closed off completely. He quietly moved to the office door and went through, presumably to his dungeons.

"I am sorry, Sirius. You know how difficult he can be sometimes," Dumbledore apologised.

Sirius shrugged. "He'll come round."

"I will make sure he does," the old wizard promised.

Harry shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot.

"I am leaving now," Sirius announced, "Are you coming, Harry? You can take the train back tomorrow with your friends."

"I…no, I think I'll stay here now," Harry replied, "I'm here now anyway."

"That is fine," Dumbledore assured him, "I hope you got to know Sirius a lot better this holiday, Harry."

Harry lowered his eyes to the floor. "I think I did, Sir," he whispered emotionally.

"Well then, you can go to your Tower and Sirius, Remus will stop by Grimmauld Place soon, he told me," the old wizard smiled as the two said goodbye.

Several hours later he was disturbed by a knock to his office door. Harry entered, nervous and clearly upset.

"What is it, my boy?" the Headmaster asked, "lemon drop?"

"No thank you, sir. I wanted…I…I think…I….have to tell you some things," Harry stammered, "about the holidays."

Dumbledore put his quill down. "What about the holidays, Harry?"

"I didn't think at first that it was strange, since the Dursleys did the same to me," Harry said in a hurry, "but I remembered how I used to feel and I think…I didn't want to let Sirius down…"

"Of course not," Dumbledore nodded, "did Sirius do something to worry you?"

"To Professor Snape," Harry whispered, "He never hit him when I was around, but I saw bruises…and he often forgot to feed him, I know. One time he, Snape, was gone for four days…Christmas it was. Sirius said you had collected him to celebrate Christmas here."

Dumbledore had paled significantly. "No, I did not collect Severus," he said clearly, "I gave Sirius money to buy him a present. What else, Harry?"

The boy squirmed uncomfortably. "Sirius called him 'Snivellus' all the time and lots of other names. He always was saying what a good for nothing nuisance he was…and after I came back from the Weasleys I saw bruises on his face often, and he was thinner. I didn't want to believe it…"

The Headmaster rested his head in his hands. "And I wanted to make him thank Sirius…make him apologize…Oh Merlin...I must go check on him…"

With that he got up. Casting a last glance at the distraught boy, he patted a bony shoulder reassuringly. "I know this was difficult for you, Harry. It was a good thing you still did it."

Rushing off the the dungeons, the Headmaster entered the rooms belonging to his Potions Master, only to find a grim looking nurse and a pale Deputy Headmistress in the living room.

"Headmaster," Poppy said, "I did not think you would get my message this fast."

"Message?" Dumbledore repeated, "what message? Is Severus ill?"

Minerva took his hand. "Albus…"

"It was a poison cocktail," the nurse shook her head, "even if I knew which ones, the antidotes would likely have clashed. It was a failsafe way – Severus never did do anything half."

Dumbledore stared at her in bewilderment.

"Albus," Minerva repeated, "Severus committed suicide. I found him when I came by to give him the staff meeting notes. There was nothing Poppy could do."

The old wizard didn't reply. Instead he opened the door to the bedroom, where a still figure lay on the bed, a white sheet pulled over the face.

"No…"

The last thought he had before giving in to a faint was the irony that Sirius Black and himself had finally finished, one consciously, one unwittingly, what they had started all those years ago, the night of the Shrieking Shack.


	15. Black Marble

Harry Potter closed the door behind him with a sigh

Harry Potter closed the door behind him with a sigh. The kids were all in bed, Ginny had rented her favourite Pride and Prejudice series and was happily watching TV accompanied by a box of chocolates. Time for him to get a pint at the local Muggle pub.

He loved going to Muggle pubs where no one knew who he was. Where he could just be another guy in the corner enjoying a bitter.

Today the pub was rather empty. He settled down in a quiet corner with his beer and sighed. Now this was the good life. Only another year before Jamie would go off to Hogwarts and while he knew his son would have a great time, he was determined to make the most of the time all children were still home. Fortunately Al and Lily would stay home a bit longer.

"Mind if I join ya?" a gruff voice asked.

Harry looked up. An old man with a large nose and gray, nearly white hair pointed his glass at the seat across from him.

"Sure, mate," he complied easily, "free country, right?"

"Aye. I suppose."

Silence reigned for a while as they drank. Harry noticed the man seemed to be in some distress – many people who came in were. A place to forget as well as a place to relax, pubs like this.

"You got kids?" the man asked, pointing to Harry's wedding band.

"Yes. Three."

"Lucky man. Good kids?"

"The best," Harry smiled softly at the thought of his children.

"Then be sure to deserve them. I ruined my chances with mine," the man sighed and waved for another beer.

"That bad?" Harry asked.

"I beat the crap out of him sometimes as a kid. Fought with his mother a lot, called him names. Mostly I just ignored him and let him fend for himself. A mean old bastard I was in those days," the man shook his head, "then after his mother died, I just disappeared from his life."

"Any chance of making it up to him, Mr…"

"Toby, call me Toby. And I had hoped so. Tried to find him. Went to see that world…that group of people he hung out with," Harry got the impression that it was a quick amendment of something the man had not wanted to say.

"Turns out he died, twelve years ago today. I'm over a decade too late."

Today…today was the day Harry always avoided the Wizarding World. The day of the final battle. The day Voldemort was defeated.

"They couldn't even tell me where he is buried. No one I spoke to seems to even have liked him – what could possibly have possessed that boy to stay in a world where no one liked him? But I guess he didn't know any better, what with I did to him…"

"Another beer, Mr Snape?" the bartender asked.

"Yes, please," the man nodded distractedly.

Harry felt a jolt of electricity go up his spine to his brain. A long-forgotten memory resurfaced, a dark haired man shouting at Eileen Prince, while little Severus cried in a corner…

Tobias Snape. The brute he thought had died long ago had turned into a repentant man.

A man that had repented when it was far too late to make amends.

Harry waved to the barkeeper to cancel the order and stood up.

"Come," he said to the other man, who was too surprised to protest.

Apparition was easy enough – the place he wanted to go was nearby.

The property was Harry's, in a quiet and remote location. At the edge of a forest clearing stood a small tomb.

"When I retrieved his body from the Shack…the place where he died, no one came to claim it, so I took responsibility. After all he'd saved my life so many times," Harry touched the black marble.

"I am going to take a walk around," he announced, seeing the man wouldn't be able to speak for some time, "take all the time you need."

As he walked off, he looked back to see the old man trace the silver letters of his lost sons name with trembling fingers.


	16. Redemption

So the war had ended for him

**A/N This story is the result from a discussion on my ChristiansforPotter yahoo group. The question was whether it was a good idea or even remotely possible to write stories in which people in the HP world convert to Christianity or are already part of it. After weeks of watching the discussion I felt inspired to write one, even though I never thought I would. Be warned though – if the thought of A) Jesus entering HP fandom or B) Snape redemption bothers you, I advise you to press the 'back' button now.**

So the war had ended for him. As the green eyes that locked into his own grew dimmer, as the shadows deepened and darkness engulfed him, Severus Snape knew that it was over. For him, at least. His final job was done – deliver the message Albus entrusted to him to Potter. He would quite possibly see the boy again soon enough.

What was this? The darkness receded. How could that be? He was dying – there was no way he could survive both Nagini's venom and the sliced artery. As the darkness disappeared and his vision cleared, he found he was no longer looking at green eyes, nor the dim dusty shack.

Instead, he found himself in a rather strange environment. It looked like a city, though any buildings were far off. He stood on a road, and many people passed by him, apparently not seeing him. He could see people he knew, even – students, staff, Death Eaters. They did not appear to notice him, and only a few of them seemed to notice each other. Unsure how to proceed and weary from the long, long years he sat down in the grass by the side of the road.

He did not know how long he had sat there – hours perhaps, or even days? Time seemed to have little meaning here.

"May I join you?" a voice suddenly spoke behind him. He looked up and saw a man in plain dark robes, hair as black as his own and equally dark eyes. This man had olive skin, however, instead of his own pale complexion.

"If you wish," he scooted over automatically, immediately realizing the futility of such an action – there was plenty of by-the-road left.

"Thank you."

Silence reigned for a while, the stranger seemingly perfectly content to stare out onto the road and say nothing. Severus gasped suddenly when he saw Albus Dumbledore rush by. He called out, but got no response – the Headmaster was clearly blind to his surroundings.

"Don't bother," the stranger smiled sadly, "they cannot hear. They cannot see. Not unless they wish to."

"I can see and hear _you_," Severus pointed out.

The man's expression brightened. "Yes, you can," he admitted, "and I am most happy that you do. Most of them, you know, do not."

The kind eyes and patient voice finally allowed Severus to voice the question that had been on his mind ever since he arrived here – wherever 'here' might be.

"Is this hell? Or heaven?"

"Neither, really," the man replied, "not yet anyway."

Severus bowed his head. "So there is a hell, and I'm bound for it," he concluded. He had known that all his life, and now that it was final, he found himself almost in tears. He deserved it. He knew he deserved it.

"Why do you think that?" the man questioned softly, "why is it so inevitable to you?"

"I deserve to be thrown in the darkest pits of hell," Severus stated through clenched teeth, "trust me on that one."

"Oh – I do trust you," the stranger reassured him, "I know you, Severus Snape. You called to me, and I heard you."

"Excuse me?" Severus raised an eyebrow, "I called to you? That is not possible; I do not know you."

"No, you don't. You could not know me personally, but you do know of me. Have you not sought redemption all your adult life? Have you not died to atone?"

Snape looked startled. "I – how do you know? And how can my actions possibly pertain to me knowing you? I have never seen you before in my life."

"Yet you called out to me. You called out for forgiveness, you called out in remorse, and I heard you, and forgave you. I accepted your acts of atonement as gifts to me."

The power now radiating off the man was intense, and Severus scooted backwards in fear. "I do…do not understand," he whispered.

"It is true that you did not know me by name when you were alive," the man, while still exuding power, looked onto him with infinite kindness.

"Yet you knew of me, or you would not have tried to seek redemption for so many years."

"Who are you, then?" Severus asked, afraid and at the same time aware that there was no reason for him to fear this man.

"I am the King," was the calm answer, "and you are in my Realm. You belong to me, Severus Snape – I accepted you. I have forgiven your sins and gladly received your acts of atonement as your gifts to me. You will live in my City and be happy."

"But…but I did…unspeakable things!" Severus protested, appalled.

"Yes, you did." The statement was made calmly, and Severus was aware that it was true. This man, this king, did know every horrible act he had ever committed and did not excuse him. He had been weighed, measured, and found wanting.

"It was not anything you did that made me accept you," the man seemed to read his thoughts, "though I, as I said, accepted them as gifts. It was your remorse that called to me, and your desire for redemption that softened my heart to you. You did not seek to justify your wrongdoings, you fully accepted that they were wrong – which they were. You are accepted not by any virtue of your own save your broken heart when you realized there was nothing you could do to redeem yourself. I listened, I heard, and answered."

"I did not know I was calling to you," Severus whispered.

"You know now. My question to you, Severus, is this: now that you have met me, do you wish to know me?"

"Yes," Severus answered without hesitation, "Yes! I am unworthy of your attention, sir, but never in my life have I desired anything as much as I desire to know you."

"Good!" the honest pleasure in the man's eyes was almost too much for Severus to bear. Someone took pleasure in knowing him. Took pleasure in his company. He smiled, for the first time in…he did not remember how long.

Then he turned to the others on the road, and the retreating back of Albus Dumbledore.

"What about them?" he asked in fear.

"They do not concern you. Their fate is between me and them," was the answer. A slight frown formed as the reply was amended. "Except, perhaps, that man."

"Where is he going?" Snape looked in the direction Dumbledore was heading.

"King's Cross Station, I believe," the king replied.

"Why can he not see you? He is Albus Dumbledore, the leader of the light. If anyone should be able to see you…"

"Oh, but Severus, did you not understand what I explained to you? It is not any of your acts that made me accept you – nor would I accept him for any of his. His remorse is self-centered, and he does not seek redemption, but to justify his choices. He has regrets, for sure, but he is not yet willing to live with them, to accept that it is impossible to amend them. He still seeks for ways of undoing his mistakes."

Seeing the sorrow in Snape's eyes, he smiled gently. "No one is beyond redemption, child. Who knows? He might call to me yet. Now come – it is time for you to come home."

He extended his hand and took Severus's in his own, pulling him towards the City in the distance. Severus looked down at the badly deformed wrist – a hideous scar showing where it had once been mangled. He looked into kind eyes full of love, and followed the King, HIS King, to wherever the man would take him.

Fin.


	17. Turning the Table

Harry Potter stood in the Atrium of the Ministry

Harry Potter stood in the Atrium of the Ministry. Despite his rags, the reminder of the years he spent innocently in Azkaban, he stood proud and tall – all 5'6" of him.

"You must forgive us, Harry," his former friends grovelled, as well as the pathetic excuse for a Minister, Arthur Weasley.

"You are the only one who can defeat You Know Who, Harry," Remus Lupin, the left-over Marauder reminded him, "please, you have to save us."

The huge gathering of people eagerly awaited Harry's heroic answer that he was going to go save them again.

"I just spent years in Azkaban," Harry mildly reminded them, "I am hardly in the condition to do anything at this point."

"We pardoned you," Weasley said, "we will pay for your treatment at St Mungo's."

"That's ridiculous, Weasley," Harry dismissed him, "You can't pardon me, since I was incarcerated innocently, and you know it."

"Well, yes," the flustered man shifted from foot to foot, "it was most unfortunate. We had no idea..."

"No? Ah well – evidence and facts weren't your strongest points anyway." Harry sighed.

"Very well. I will fight Voldemort…" he rolled his eyes at the collective flinch, "tomorrow. In Godric's Hollow. So you'd better run along and give him the invitation, Malfoy."

Lucius Malfoy started, but then stood up straight and nodded. He quickly left, despite the shouts of the people around him.

Harry smirked at the astonished face of Cornelius Fudge, ex-minister.

"Of course, my cooperation comes at a price," he said offhandedly.

"Anything, Harry!" they assured him.

"Very well. After tomorrow, I will leave Britain. I want an account, accessible internationally, with enough money to last me for years until I have built a life of my own."

"Granted," Arthur quickly said, "the reparation money alone should be able to do that, and I will add a considerable sum to that after the defeat of You Know Who."

"Good. Second, I want to be left alone. No one is to contact me unless I contact them first."

The others looked crestfallen at that, but nodded anyway.

"Third, since you are already asking me to kill, I will ask for another life. In return for killing Voldemort, you will give over Albus Dumbledore to me."

The crowd collectively turned white. Albus Dumbledore, who had wisely not pressed to the first rows, sighed in resignation.

"You want to kill the Headmaster? We can't…can't allow you…" Arthur spluttered.

"That is my condition, Weasley," Harry said sharply, "I could walk away now and leave you all to be killed. One life in exchange for all of yours. Not to much too ask for, I trust."

Strong hands pushed the Headmaster forward.

"So, Albus. How does it feel now, that it is YOUR life being sacrificed for the 'Greater Good'?" Harry sneered, "how does it feel to be on the other side for once?"

Dumbledore stepped forward bravely. "If my death will save the Wizarding World, I welcome it," he stated.

"Oh, no, old man," Harry smiled, a cold smile that sent chills down the spines of those watching, "I will not allow you to become a martyr. No – I do believe you are familiar with a spell – not even a Dark spell, mind – that forces upon you everything you ever did to others?"

Dumbledore paled and looked ready to faint.

"I don't understand," Hermione muttered, "you said you were going to kill the Headmaster. But that spell won't kill him, unless…"

"It will revisit upon him what he did to others," Harry calmly repeated, "if he is the benign Light wizard you all revere, he should have nothing to fear from this spell. However, it does seem he himself isn't expecting to survive."

That shocked the room even more.

"You see, it wasn't just sending me to Azkaban. It was orchestrating my whole life to get me killed. How many others died because he insisted that he was acting for the Greater Good? Funny how it was never him that had to sacrifice, how he always got to decide what the rest of us should give up."

"If that spell gives you what you deserve, then you would die, too, if it was cast on you, Potter!"

Harry regarded Ron with a shrug. "It would, at that, Weasley. Care to test your theory? Because honestly, I am long past the point where dying bothers me, but it does seem you are in need of me."

He glanced at Dumbledore. "See how eager they are to sacrifice you, Dumbledore? I can understand why you wanted to pretend to save them – for power. I don't see what's worth saving beyond that, honestly. But very well – I will kill Voldemort for you and then be off. You can forge your own destruction from then on."

Harry turned and made to leave.

"Where are you going?" shouts went up, "you didn't kill him yet! Does that mean you are not going to fight He Who Must Not Be Named?"

"I don't see why he should not be named. It makes conversation so much less time-consuming to just use his name. Yes, I am going to kill Voldemort. I am giving your dear Headmaster until after I do that to set his affairs in order."

With that, Harry Potter disappeared.

ssssssssssssss

The next day, a clean, shaven Potter in new robes made short work of the Dark Lord.

"There. Done," he said, wiping his hands on his robes.

"Now, give me Dumbledore."

Unfortunately, the aging Headmaster was apparently making a break for it. He was nowhere to be seen.

Harry frowned in annoyance. "Look, I killed him, I can bring him back," he pointed his wand at the body before him, "you promised me Dumbledore, an account and guarantees of privacy. Time to pay up, or I WILL resurrect him and leave him to it."

Under that threat, Aurors quickly apprehended the old man, who was deposited quivering and whimpering in front of Harry. Account information was shared and former friends gave vows to keep their distance.

Then Harry pointed his wand at the Headmaster. "Revisitus!" he cast, and turned to leave without bothering to view the effects.

Albus Dumbledore was buried by his brother Aberforth in a small cemetery somewhere in England. The wizarding world collapsed under the continuous corruption, bias and anarchy. When the Muggles finally found their way into it, they found a savage society full of wild mages that were beyond anyone's control. The most reasonable were captured to be examined. The rest was exterminated. Muggleborn witches and wizards were given the choice of cooperating or having their magic bound. Most eventually found a place as part of the British secret agencies.

Harry Potter lived out his life happily, if anonymously.


	18. Escape Clause

Ever since Dudley Dursley turned twelve, and his education started in earnest, he could no longer claim that what happened in his house was normal

Ever since Dudley Dursley turned twelve, and his education started in earnest, he could no longer claim that what happened in his house was normal. Now, normalcy was something Dudley had been taught to worship, so this realization was slow in coming. Still, it came, one day at the time.

Of course he had heard some of his friends complain over the years how their parents favoured a sibling, usually a younger sister. That had always made him feel secure – to know that how his cousin was treated was no different. He himself had just been the lucky one.

As the years went by, however, he had to come to the sad conclusion that their friends had somewhat exaggerated. The little sisters may have been a tad bit spoiled – fathers especially seemed to be overprotective of little girls – but his friends weren't doing chores all day long. They got to eat. They weren't hit with frying pans. They didn't sleep in cupboards under the stairs where they were locked for days on end. They got presents for their birthdays.

One day at school, a guest speaker came and talked about child abuse and a phone number people could call if they were abused or thought that a friend was being abused.

Was Harry a friend? Dudley would have said no. Then he began to realize he had no idea if Harry was a friend, because he did not know Harry at all. Of course, after all he had done there was no question of a possible friendship anymore.

It took him two more years. Two more years of biting his lip whenever his parents were unfair to his cousin, two more years of pretending that everything was normal, two years of slowly stopping his own harassment. Then one day, when they were fourteen, Dudley was overjoyed when Harry's friends threatened his father at the station. Now the maltreatment would stop. Harry's friends would come for him, and everything would be alright.

How wrong he had been.

His father, outraged by the threats, cuffed Harry around the head so hard he hit the wall and slid to the floor. Being dragged by the scruff of his neck to his room didn't help. For three days Dudley saw hide nor hair of his cousin, and knew he could not have written to those friends of his, because the owl – Harry's owl – had been left in the garden. Dudley had been secretly taking care of her in his own room. Yet the freaks did not come.

Harry had been without food and water for three days. Dudley cried for an entire night as all illusions he had about his parents shattered around him and his world came crashing down. The selfish, spoiled, arrogant, stupid, naïve boy was lost that night and a new Dudley rose from the shards.

He snuck food from the kitchen and pushed it through the catflap to Harry. He even managed to put in a small bucket to use as a loo and didn't gag or protest when he had to later empty it. He picked the lock on the cupboard under the stairs – having criminal friends DID have its advantages – and slowly, one by one, snuck Harry's things to his room. His wand, that cloak of his, books, parchment, quills.

At least four letters should have been written already, and hadn't. Yet no one came.

A week later, Dudley stood in a phone booth, a good distance away, with a crumpled leaflet in his hands. The leaflet he had gotten that day in school, two years ago. He dialled the number, sure whoever was going to pick up the phone would hear his heart beating in his throat.

"Hi…" he managed after the man on the other end had made his introduction, "I'm…I'm Dudley, Dudley Dursley. I'm calling about my cousin…Harry…"

They called him brave, they called him a hero, and as promised they came and collected both Harry and himself from their home. Though it pained him to see his parents being taken away in handcuffs, Dudley could not help but feel they deserved it. Everything would be different now.

That same evening they were all back at the house. A white-haired wizard had come, a man that looked about a thousand years old. He told the elder Dursleys that everything had been taken care of, that the police had no trace of the report nor the arrest, and the neighbours had been Obliviated. Then the man had turned to Harry. Thin, pale, obviously ill Harry.

"Now, my boy," he admonished, "I know you understand why you have to stay here. I have no desire to come back to solve a thing like this again. Don't be trouble for your aunt and uncle. I will see you in September."

"But…" Dudley started, "are you leaving him here?"

The old man smiled kindly. "Yes, of course, this is his home."

"It's NOT," Dudley protested, "That report wasn't wrong! They did…they did do everything it said!"

The old man let his gaze rest on the elder two. "An unfortunate misunderstanding, I am sure."

And he left. He left.

His parents had clearly realized they had nothing to fear. Harry was back in his room in no time, dragged by his hair. Dudley had retreated to his own room, the shock so great he felt sick to his stomach. He had been sure, so sure that once he called that number Harry would be better. Harry would be alright.

As his parents slept, that night, he snuck out to talk to Harry.

"Hi, Dudley," Harry said, his face sad as they both lay on the floor in front of the cat flap, each on one side of the locked door.

"I'm sorry," Dudley blurted out, "I wanted to make things better for you."

"I know," Harry reached through the flap with a thin hand – the food Dudley snuck him was enough to prevent him deteriorating, he needed much more to actually get well.

"Thank you, Dud."

"I'm going to find another way," Dudley promised, "there must be some way."

A soft, hollow laugh. "That was Albus Dumbledore, Dudley. If he decides something, mere mortals aren't going to change anything."

A cough. "Goodnight, Dud. Get some sleep."

Dudley returned to his room, tossing and turning. In the early hours of the morning he dressed, and once more snuck out of his room. They would escape. They would flee to wherever it was together. He packed a bag and managed to get the keyring from his parent's room without waking them up.

Finally he opened all the locks on Harry's room, one by one, taking care not to make a sound, and pushed open the door.

Harry's face was white, but he smiled, gently, looking more relaxed than Dudley had ever seen him. His body swayed softly from the belt that used to hold up Dudley's old pants. The toppled chair made it obvious what had happened after both Muggle and Wizarding world had abandoned the boy. Dudley dropped his bag. It wouldn't be needed after all.

Harry Potter had found his own way out.

**A/N Yeah, yeah, I know. Angsty and depressing. I actually meant for Dudley and Harry to escape together to all kinds of adventures and I think I might still write that story someday. It could be interesting to see what they get up to.**


	19. Ringing True

1

1.

Albus Dumbledore stared at the ring before him. The ring that held the Resurrection Stone, or so he believed. The Hallow, the one he wanted most of all. He would have to find a way…the Horcrux...

With shaking hands he tried to open the ring. Nothing. Command words. Useless. Penknife. Broke.

Finally, with a frustrated growl, he grabbed the Sword of Gryffindor from its display and prepared to open it.

Just as the sword was about to strike, a voice sounded.

"Here it is!" a small, childlike figure on large bare feet charged in and grabbed the ring. "It's here, Mr Frodo! I found it."

2.

Albus Dumbledore stared at the ring before him. The ring that held the Resurrection Stone, or so he believed. The Hallow, the one he wanted most of all. He would have to find a way…the Horcrux...

With shaking hands he tried to open the ring. Nothing. Command words. Useless. Penknife. Broke.

Finally, with a frustrated growl, he grabbed the Sword of Gryffindor from its display and prepared to open it.

Just as the sword was about to strike, the ring blinked out of existence.

On a distant plane, in the land of Middle Earth and a small corner of it named The Shire, a scream echoed that could be heard to even Gondor.

"Not again!" Frodo Baggins, Nine-Fingered Frodo, wailed at the top of his lungs as he held the obviously evil and possessed ring, "Not again! GAAANDAAAAAALFFF!!"


	20. Timely Rescue

Inspired by Plot Bunny 15

Inspired by Plot Bunny 15. Just playing around in the AU planes.

When Eileen Prince died, her son Severus was twelve years old. Her husband Tobias was thirty-seven. At her funeral, Tobias sobbed and screamed under the impassive eye of his son, who bitterly remembered the many times his father had yelled at his mother and beaten her. The boy was willing to overlook the many times his father had beaten him, as much as he was willing to overlook the black eye he sported – the result of his father drowning his sorrows with whiskey. After summer, he went back to Hogwarts, a sad depressed little boy that no one took any notice of.

Tobias Snape spent the first years after his wife's death in a drunken stupor. When Severus came home for the holidays, he ignored the boy save for the handful of times seeing him reminded Tobias of his dead wife. Severus went to bed on those occasions with belt marks from his shoulders to his legs and a head full of bitter thoughts of revenge.

During Severus's fifth year, however, something changed. Tobias was arrested briefly for assault, but the man he attacked showed something alien to Tobias – mercy. He agreed to settle with Tobias out of court, his only condition that Tobias get help for his drinking problem.

Under the threat of either getting sobered up or spending several years in jail, Tobias grumbled and sulked his way through several meetings until a realisation hit him – he missed his wife.

His wife, whom he had belittled and abused throughout their marriage, but who had stayed faithfully by his side nonetheless. He missed her presence. He missed her kind hands soothing his head after a drinking binge. He remembered the fumes of the hangover cure she used to brew for him – the very first potions she taught Severus to brew. Pushing the thoughts of his son to the back of his head for the moment, Tobias finally made a sensible decision. He contacted his sponsor, got the addresses of several good counsellors and made an appointment.

That summer, the summer between Severus's fifth and sixth years, he had meetings – AA meetings, therapy sessions, group therapy – every day, sometimes several in a single day. He did not see Severus at all; the boy snuck in to sleep late at night and left early in the morning. Tobias was unsure where he went. Inquiries with the neighbouring Evans family did not yield much. Apparently Severus and their girl (Lisa? Milly? No, Lily) had a fight and were now not on speaking terms.

By the end of summer Tobias had been sober for over nine months, he was making good progress in therapy after a breakdown over how he treated his wife. His group sessions, which he had loathed at first, were a great benefit.

Then, when he had made his peace with the dead, one of the group members asked him how he dealt with the living. With the one person he still had. The only part of Eileen left on the earth – their son.

Tobias did not face up to what he had done to the boy overnight. Indeed, it took many weaks for him to acknowledge the abuse he had heaped upon an innocent child. To realize that he did not even know his own son.

The healing was slow, but when summer approached he swore that he would make an effort to mend his practically non-existent relationship with Severus. He would apologise, he would perhaps even ask the boy to attend a few sessions with him. He would tell Severus that he loved him, that he was proud of him.

Then a letter came, a parchment from Hogwarts. There had been an 'incident'. That was nothing new; there had been many 'incidents' over the years which had often landed Severus in the infirmary. He was always sent a notification, but generally ignored them.

Now, it was time to take an interest in what happened to the boy. Eileens boy. Their boy.

So he travelled to Hogwarts by the instructions provided and found himself in the Headmasters office.

He could not believe the story he was told. A werewolf. That was one thing – from what he understood, the boy in question could not help being one and he was safely confined. However, that the other boy – Sirius – had known how to gain access, and even thought that sending Severus in there would be a fun prank was beyond him. Even more astounding was that the Headmaster made light of it all. He was informed Sirius would be in detention for a month – one night a week. He also lost something called 'house points' which apparently mattered. James, the boy who had been just in time to warn Severus, had received an equal amount of those 'house points' as Sirius lost. Since both boys were apparently in the same House, that part of the punishment, at least, was completely negated.

His son had also lost these 'points' and would also be in detention for a month. He had also been threatened into keeping the werewolf child's secret. Though the Headmaster called it an 'agreement' Tobias knew blackmail when he saw it. He tried to argue with the old man, stating it was unfair to punish a curious boy just as much as one who had actively tried to get a classmate killed, but to no avail. Frustrated, he demanded to see his son.

He was taken to the infirmary, where Severus – though not injured – had retreated. The school nurse informed him that Severus helped her brew, and brewing always calmed him more than anything else. Tobias smiled softly to himself – Eileen had been the same.

To say Severus was shocked to see his father would be an understatement. Bile rose to Tobias's throat as he saw the boy flinch away from him, looking for an escape route.

"I heard what happened," Tobias began gently, and nearly cried when he saw his son curl in on himself, clearly expecting blows.

"Your Headmaster is a moron," he continued, a bit heated, "punishing you for nearly losing your life? It's despicable."

That made the boy look up in surprise.

"Severus…" Tobias sighed, "I have no right to you, not anymore. I've lost my right to be your father because I've never been a father to you. But I'll be damned if I sit back and allow those people here to abuse you as badly as I have done!"

Severus snorted sarcastically. "It's not exactly the same. They don't need belts – they have wands and spells. And when that fails, horrendous monsters…" he shivered.

"I don't feel safe leaving you here," his father whispered, "but I know you won't feel safe with me, either. I will have to work hard to ever earn your trust, if that is even still a possibility. I do have friends, Severus – trustworthy people who would not dream of ever harming a child. I still have authority to pull you out of this school and send you to live with one of them. Find another school for you, where the Headmaster doesn't think there is nothing wrong with students having near-death experiences."

Severus turned off the fire beneath the cauldron he had been working on. "Gotta see Poppy. I've lost my mind. Seeing things…"

"You are not seeing things," Tobias assured him, gently taking his shoulder and ignoring the tremor as he did so.

"I will tell you the whole story, if you give me a chance. Please, son. Allow me to help you. Let me, for once in my life, do right by you. Please, Severus."

Tobias was no longer above pleading. Severus stared at him, hearing the honestly in his voice and was completely confused by it.

"You may be angry with me, and you should be," Tobias continued, "you can leave and not see me ever again if you wish. But please, don't stay here, where people are just as bad as I was, just because you never knew the alternative."

Severus looked at him, looked at the cauldron, looked at his bag with so many destroyed books. Remembered the pain of the Headmaster's non-punishments of the ones who tried to kill him and nodded almost imperceptively.

Five minutes later, Tobias strode determinedly back up to the Headmasters office. He did not have his son back, not yet, and it was unsure if Severus would ever accept him again. But for now, he would take great pleasure in telling that senile old bastard that ran this place exactly where he could stuff Severus's tuition for next year.


	21. Time Travel

AU

AU. Time Travel Fic.

"…and so, Harry, my boy, I think it is best if you use this Time Turner to go back in history and set things right," Dumbledore continued, twinkling like mad.

Harry eyed the old wizard and slowly nodded. "I won't get in trouble with the Ministry?"

"That has all been arranged," Dumbledore waved his hand, "don't worry about it. Now you go back in time and nip this problem in the bud before it can develop, alright?"

"Yes, Sir," Harry agreed, "thank you for this opportunity."

sssssssss

Harry landed with a thud and looked around. It was a quiet place, though in the distance he heard voices and he walked towards them.

Three boys were tormenting a smaller girl. Harry frowned.

"Get away," he ordered the boys, "off you go."

He helped up the girl. "Are you alright?"

"Yes…yes, sir," she sniffed, "thank you."

"You are welcome," Harry said, "what is your name?"

"Ariana Dumbledore," she said.

"Ah, then I arrived at the right place. Do you perchance have a brother named Albus?"

At that moment a boy ran around the corner. "Ari, are you alright?"

"Yeah Al," the girl said, "but the boys are still out there."

"I'll take care of them," the boy declared confidently, "go home, Ari."

Harry regarded the child-Dumbledore with a sigh.

"Where did those boys go, Sir?" Albus asked.

"This way," Harry took the boy with him to a quiet corner.

"I am sorry about this, Albus," he said as he petrified the boy, "but it is for the Greater Good. I came back to kill you…"

Even petrified the boy let out a whimper at that.

"But to kill a child in cold blood…" Harry sighed, "yet I can't allow you to grow up into the person you shall become. So many people will suffer and die because of you…"

He took out a small vial. "I am sorry about this. I never wanted to become a killer, but you have made me."

He tilted the boy's head back. "It will be painless, I promise," he said gently, "you won't feel a thing."

An hour later, a hastily formed search party stumbled upon the small body. By then, Harry Potter was long gone.

sssssssss

With Albus Dumbledore gone, Grindelwald found little support. Realizing what he was like, a group of influential wizards imprisoned him in 1924 after a failed attempt to gain power. He died in prison.

Tom Marvolo Riddle became a protégé of Horace Slughorn, who retrieved him from the orphanage when he was eleven. Realizing the boy's enormous potential, the Potions Master adopted the boy.

Tom Riddle later took Severus Snape as an apprentice. The group of Gryffindors that called themselves Marauders were expelled from the school after a prank that nearly sent the Slytherin to his death.

sssssssss

Harry smiled as he saw the changed world through ghostly eyes. He had known, when he went back, that he would sign his own death warrant, since changing history would change his own birth and survival. But it had been worth it. With the removal of the instigator, peace settled over the once war-torn Wizarding World.


	22. The Librarian

A/N: Idea for a possible Harry Potter/Librarian crossover

**A/N: Idea for a possible Harry Potter/Librarian crossover.**

Severus Snape stalked the busy streets, cursing under his breath. Why oh why had he allowed Minerva to talk him into taking a vacation? And why had he allowed Poppy to purchase him tickets? To the USA, of all places?

He scowled along, sending pedestrians scurrying in all directions. Even now that he had seen his fiftieth birthday, his black hair showed no grey yet and his stalk was strong and determined as ever.

Though he had never expected to see his fiftieth birthday. The venom from Nagini had, ironically, saved his life. The torn artery would have killed him had the venom not swollen the tissue in his neck that pressed it close just in time. The swelling also hindered the venom from spreading further into his body. When Poppy and Minerva came to retrieve him, they found him alive, though barely.

It was two weeks before he regained consciousness. By then, the school had been cleaned up, the students sent home, the Order hunting the remaining Death Eaters, Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley planning their wedding, Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood revising the curriculum, and Harry Potter had gone missing.

Minerva had asked him to return to Potions and become Deputy Headmaster – Potter had ensured that he was considered a war hero, curse the brat! But he did accept the offer; after all, Hogwarts was the only home he had ever known and after that last horrible year of the war, he had wanted to join the reparation efforts.

The missing Potter had seemingly not been on the forefront of anyone's mind. Only later did he find out that Potter had not simply gone 'missing'. He had most certainly told his friends that he was leaving, and stayed in sporadic contact with them. He simply wanted to be away from the Wizarding World and the fame. Ginny Weasley apparently had a fit over that, and their involvement ended.

Almost fifteen years later, and Snape was still at Hogwarts. Minerva, now an active eighty-five year old, would likely remain Headmistress for a few more years. He still had not decided if he wanted the job again after she retired, though Minerva had certainly hinted that he should. He was unsure. Hogwarts was his home, but often a nasty voice in the back of his head said that there must be more to life than just Hogwarts.

He sneered at a pedestrian that did not move out of his way soon enough, only to be met with twinkling green eyes.

"Why hello Professor," the bane of his existence said merrily, "fancy meeting you here."

A near-shouting match, infuriatingly vague answers from Potter and a few threats from Severus later, the situation had resolved itself with Severus and Potter sitting in a private booth in what was apparently Potter's favourite café, Potter with a large Latte and Snape with an Espresso.

"You didn't tell your friends you were here," Snape remarked.

"If I had, you would never have come within two hundred miles," Harry laughed.

It struck Snape suddenly that he had never heard Potter laugh before. Smile, occasionally. But this all-out, merry laugh was something Potter had never done, not in all his years at Hogwarts. Severus was also painfully aware of how much Harry sounded like Lily when he laughed like that.

"Certainly not," he sneered, but with far less hostility than before, "did you know I would be here?"

The infuriating brat nodded calmly, sipping his ridiculously large cup of Latte. "Of course I knew. And I wanted to see how you were. After all, the last time we saw each other was hardly pleasant."

The snake. The memories. The green eyes that slowly grew dimmer as he sank into darkness – no, it was not a pleasant experience, for either of them.

"I did not realize you were not dead," Potter said with some remorse, "I am sorry…"

"You could not know," Snape cut off, "and you had more important things to do. After which you left so quickly that you probably did not even know I had been retrieved alive."

"I learned that a few months after I left," Harry admitted, "news did have trouble keeping up with me back then, I was moving around so much."

Snape eyed him curiously. "So what is it that you do, Potter? Why are you here? You clearly live here, considering they," he waved at the waitresses, "seem to know you."

The boy – no, he was a man now, wasn't he? In his early thirties, like Granger and Weasley – smiled brightly. "I do live here. I work here."

"Where do you work?"

Harry pointed at the large building behind them. "Have you visited the library yet, Professor?"

"The library?" Snape curled his lip in distaste, "don't tell me that YOU actually started to enjoy books."

"Books, other things," Harry shrugged, "I am the Librarian. One of them, anyway."

"You left our world, to become a librarian?" Snape said in disbelief, "I would have expected that of Granger."

"Hermione would love the Library," Harry agreed fondly, "I had never thought I would work there. But, Flynn said I would enjoy it."

"Flynn?"

The younger man nodded. "My fellow Librarian. About ten years ago, after five years of travelling, I ran across him. He was in a spot of trouble and I helped him out. After that, he dragged me back to the Library."

Harry laughed again, his eyes bright and happy. "Flynn says some men are born heroes, some men achieve heroism and some men have heroism thrust upon them. He says I am one of the few who suffer all three, and that made me uniquely qualified. Meanwhile, the Library had expanded to such a size that a Wizard Librarian was no luxury – though I think having both Flynn and me around drives Judson to despair sometimes."

Snape marvelled at the change in Potter. Gone was the angry, grown-up-too-soon boy with Lily's eyes but without Lily's laughter and joy in them. Now they truly resembled his mother's. He was relaxed, confident, happy with his life and his friends.

"Well, if sorting out books all day makes you happy," Snape couldn't help but jab, "at least the world is safe from your abysmal potions skills, Potter."

"There's more to being a Librarian than meets the eye, Professor," Potter said, finishing his coffee.

"I'm sure," Snape drawled, "it must be ever so exciting."

"You have no idea," Harry checked his watch, which had bleeped ominously. "I'm to meet Flynn at the airport in two hours."

A mischievous smirk appeared on his face, "Would you like to come with me, Professor? See what boring things we Librarians get up to?"

"And break my back hauling books around? No thank you," Severus frowned.

"Oh, come on, Professor," Harry got up and motioned for the other man to follow, "It'll be fun. And it's not like you have better things to do than scare off pedestrians, now, is there?"

Damn the brat. Snape got to his feet and followed. At least he would be able to reassure Potters fanclub at home that he was in good health and had stopped risking his life in favour of holding a dull, but harmless job.


	23. The Running Philosophy

**Short Harry Potter/Discworld crossover. Might end up a whole story sometime – not sure yet.**

Four solemn faces looked down upon the earth, where an old man in robes placed an infant on the doorstep of a very ordinary looking house.

"I am not sure that family is a good choice," Artemis said, tapping her helmet thoughtfully.

"What can you expect of wizards?" muttered Hephaestus.

The third merely shrugged, and threw a bit of meat at a large, three headed dog.

"I have already decided on the matter," Zeus said, "When he is sevem, we will retrieve him from this place. He will be raised at Mount Olympus to be a hero for his people and ours."

The other three nodded, and turned their backs on the bundle, convinced that in four years, they would pick him up for epic adventures.

Little did they know that their carefully laid out crossover plans were to be rudely interrupted.

ssssssssss

At five years old, little Harry Potter was quite an accomplished athlete. He was particularly talented in sprinting, and he did it very often.

Usually to keep away from his cousin Dudley and his gang of little bullies. Aunt Petunia called their chase of him 'adorable childish antics'. Uncle Vernon called it 'being a real boy'. The neighbours called it 'ruining their flowerbeds'.

This particular morning Harry had been tasked with setting the breakfast table and taking out the garbage. While setting the table went relatively well, the garbage bin was heavy and he needed all his efforts to keep it upright. He was managing, until Dudley, a full head higher and twice as heavy as him, walked past and gave him a firm push of his shoulder. Harry lost control of the bin, which toppled over, spilling garbage all over the street.

"HARRY POTTER!" the voice of his aunt Petunia screeched.

Harry did not even waste time trying to argue it was Dudleys fault. He simply took off and ran. He would have to pay for it when he got back, he knew, but that was later. Later was always better than 'now'.

Harry never screamed, though. Screaming gave away his location, and giving away his location would let his relatives find him. He learned that the hard way when he was barely two years old.

Nevertheless, a screaming came from his general direction. Harry closed his mouth tightly, but the sound continued. It took him a few more seconds to realize that it was not _him_ that was screaming.

First of all, he didn't have THAT high-pitched a voice, even though he was a child. Second, he had never screamed with such wild abandon. In terror, yes. Horrified, yes. Screaming his heart out – no.

A thud behind him, followed by footsteps only made him sprint faster. It took another minute or so to realize that someone else was sprinting with him. Soon they reached the relative safety of the park where Dudley was not allowed to go on his own on account of the need to cross a busy street. Dudley generally ignored this, but today aunt Petunia had been standing next to him and was likely chasing Harry along with him, so his opportunities for rule-breaking were limited somewhat.

At the far end of the park, Harry dropped onto a bench, clenching his stinging side while panting. The unidentified screaming person did the same thing. After a few seconds' rest, Harry looked up at him.

It was a most peculiar person indeed. As if screaming and running like a child wasn't enough, this man wore a dress and an odd pointy head. Something was written on it, but Harry could not yet read.

"Were you running from someone or something?" the man finally panted.

Harry nodded.

The man seemed to like that answer.

"Finally someone with some common sense," he looked approvingly at Harry.

"I'm Harry," Harry volunteered.

"I am Rincewind, a wizard," the man proudly announced, and attributed the sudden paling of the boys face to a feeling of awe.

"Grown ups shouldn't run away," Harry ventured.

"Of course they should. And often, too. Running is the best way to get out of trouble."

"Running gets me into trouble," Harry said.

"Yes. Me as well. But then you run away from that, too. See? That's the beauty of running. You can always do it again."

Although he had never seen it that way, that made sense to Harry.

In the distance, he saw his aunt approach. The man saw it too, and lept to his feet.

"I don't know how I got here. It must be one of the dungeon dimensions," he muttered, "but I want a way OUT!"

With that, he prepared to sprint again.

"Er, Mr Rincewind, sir?" Harry asked, "Could you…teach me to run?"

The man looked at him. "Got a good set of legs on you? Proper stamina? Distinct lack of heroism? No problems taking the sensible cowards way out?"

Harry nodded sincerely.

"Then try and keep up," Rincewind said, "I think we'll head…that way!"

Harry ran and ran to keep up with his new teacher's longer legs. Still, they were no match for the car Uncle Vernon was trying to head them off in once they hit the road.

"Can't you do magic, if you're a wizard?" Harry panted. Now that he knew how to run away, he would not have to fear saying forbidden words again.

"Well…that is to say…"

Harry clutched the wizard's robes tight as Uncle Vernon closed in on them…just seconds…

And then, with a strange feeling of being squeezed, they were gone, leaving a frustrated, bellowing Vernon behind.


	24. Lily's Grave

It was months after the final battle. Everyone had more or less recovered, and now started their grieving processes over losses that could never be undone. The Weasleys mourned Fred, though George often pointed out that Fred would never have survived hearing his mother swear, anyway. The remaining Weasley twin had a hard time coping – often he would start a sentence and then wait, as if expecting his brother to finish. When this happened his eyes would dim, and he refused to end the sentence himself.

For Harry it was the start of many endings. He found himself finally grieving for his parents, Sirius, Remus, Hedwig, Moody. To his utter surprise, he realized, late one evening, that he was mourning Tom Riddle. Not Voldemort – but the boy he had seen in the Pensieve, the boy who could have turned out so much better than he had.

In it all, though, there were tiny glimpses of happiness. Victoire, Bill and Fleur's daughter. Little Teddy, growing up happy and loved despite the loss of his parents. And, Harry often thought in surprise, the fact that there was one death he did not have to mourn when Snape had been retrieved alive from the Shack. Of course, Snape himself was far from relieved, but the snarky git just had to learn to live with it.

Harry ducked inside the warm collar of his wintercoat – he took to wearing Muggle clothes often now – as he slowly made his way through the snow towards the place he had avoided for a long time. The graves of his parents.

To his immense surprise, he found someone already there – a dark figure, huddled in a cloak, who placed one white lily on the headstone.

"Fancy meeting you here, Professor," Harry said softly.

Snape scowled. "Eloquent and sensitive as always, Potter."

Harry didn't respond. He simply stood and stared at the graves, feeling Snape begin to…fidget? Was the man truly fidgeting like boy, not knowing whether he should stay or go? Harry kept quiet a little longer just to enjoy the feeling.

"Rather amazing, really," he finally remarked, "she was only twenty-one years old, yet my father died for her, and you – you lived for her. Was she worth it? Was she really that special?"

"If you had known her, Potter, you would not need to ask such an imbecilic question."

Harry chuckled inside as he suddenly realized something. Snape felt uncomfortable around him. That was the reason he had avoided him for so long. The man was now deliberately goading him into an angry response because he was unsure how to react to a calm and relaxed Harry.

"She didn't seem all that special to me in your memories. I think I inherited my temper from her instead of my father. And she certainly could hold a grudge if she refused to talk to you over one unkind word, spoken under great duress."

Well, someone succeeded in provoking. But it wasn't Snape.

Harry felt a hand grab his shoulder and he was spun around to face a furious, practically foaming Potions Master.

"How dare you! She had every right to hate me after that! After the things I did. She was beautiful, and kind, and she deserved the very best! Do NOT speak ill of Lily Evans, Potter, or you will regret it!"

Suddenly Snape realized who he was talking to, and quickly released Harry's coat.

"I…"

Harry smiled, and brushed off what would undoubtedly be a very stiff and unsuccessful attempt at an apology.

"He died for her, and you lived for her. That must mean she's pretty special," he gently put a hand on the stone. "Hi, Mum. I'm Harry, your son. Severus is here, too. No need to be angry with him, Mum – I owe him my life."

For a fleeting moment, both men swore they saw the face of a young woman, red hair and green eyes, floating just before them, over the grave. She smiled at them and then vanished, leaving no sign she was ever there.

The two stood in shocked silence for a long while, until Snape cleared his throat.

"Yes…well…" and Apparated away.

Harry smiled sadly, whispered a quiet goodbye and walked away, head ducked back into his coat.

It was months after the final battle, and the time to grieve had only just begun.


	25. Anthropomorphic Personification

A/N: continuation of The Running Philosophy

Rincewind the Wizzard sat clutching his head. He never thought he would admit it, but ever since he took on an apprentice, he caught himself wishing he could return to the calm, peaceful, simple days when he travelled with Twoflower and had the eight spell lodged inside his head.

Not that Harry was a difficult child. As far as children went, and Rincewind had little experience with them – a child Sourcerer and a child demonologist were hardly to be considered representative of the entire species of 'children' – Harry wasn't an overly troublesome lad. He certainly had taken to the idea of running a lot better than anyone ever had, and at almost seven years old the boy could outrun practically everyone. (This had only once caused trouble, when the child had managed to outrun the Patrician's carriage after a bet to see if he could discern the black coat of arms on the black carriage. Fortunately, Rincewind and Harry had succeeded in outrunning the guards, as well).

So the boy was a wizard – that was no problem, either. Rincewind himself considered himself something of a wizard, despite a startling lack of magical ability, and he could cope well enough with that. One did not spend years around wizards of all ages, even when one is not that adapt at magic oneself, without developing some sort of cavalier attitude towards accidents with fireballs, unintended summoning of various pets that the boy insisted on keeping until the disgruntled summoned creatures returned to their native realms of their own accord, and some minor mischief in trying to bewitch bartenders around the city into believing a six year old SHOULD be allowed to drink beverages high in alcohol content.

Though the Neuralger had been a bit much. The boy had, after all, promised him a Succubus. The problem was not so much in the summoning, Rincewind later evaluated, but in the fact that the boy had no idea how to tell the difference between the two, and Rincewind had not managed to explain it to him without blushing fiercely, stammering a little and ultimately giving up.

But generally the boy was no problem. So when Harry snuck past him a little earlier, holding two sticks, a cage of mice and a syringe, he thought nothing of it. When over his head, incantations started and all sorts of pounding noises emerged, he figured the boy was just getting rid of some youthful excess energy. They had, after all, not run from anyone in two days. There was bound to be some energy build-up in the child.

"Rincewind! Rincewind!" Harry's excited voice made him realize he had not heard any noise in the past few minutes, "look! Look what I got! Can I keep him?"

Rincewind looked up, straight into the skull of a reproachful looking Grim Reaper, who was being led by his hand through the house by a bouncing Harry. His other hand clutched a small black duck.

"AAAHHHH!!!!" Rincewind did some preventive screaming, "Run, Harry, run!"

Harry stared at him. Normally he was quite inclined to obey this command, but this was one really cool pet they were talking about.

"Why?"

Why indeed. After all, I am sure to enjoy being summoned from my bath by a small human.

"That's…that's the Grim Reaper! Him! Death!" Rincewind wailed.

Harry looked up at the skeletal structure. "Really?"

Really.

I might add, Rincewind, that the Rite of AshkEnte is NOT meant for children.

Rincewind nodded weakly. Harry perked up. "Death? But…how can you be death? Death is a state of being, not…" he waved his hand.

An anthropomorphic personification of death, Death replied.

"Yes. That. Anyway, everyone dies," Harry explained patiently to the strange adult he had lived with for the past two years. That was plenty of time to realize that while Rincewind could teach him a great many things, particularly the intricacies of the Running Philosophy, his new guardian was also cowardly and, as adults go, slightly dense at times.

I can confirm that, Death agreed with Harry's statement.

"So there is absolutely no point in running from it," Harry continued, "even if it is an…an…antipodean person."

Anthropomorphic personification, Death corrected, I find it helps putting humans at ease, as it were.

Harry had to admit Rincewind, for one, did not look at ease at all. In fact, he looked terrified.

"Am I going to die?"

Not today, the Grim Reaper determined, though I really wish you humans would stop performing the Rite of AshkEnte. It is most annoying to be summoned at all hours.

"Sorry," Harry said, contrite, "but can I keep him, Rincewind? Please?"

I am not a pet, small boy.

"I know THAT," Harry said, "but the Neuralger had to go back home, and Rincewind didn't seem to like her much anyway. And I could not keep the Tarrasque, either. The Leviathan insisted on going back home even though she was flattered I spoke to her in her own language. I want a friend."

Death seemed to consider this for a while. Colour returned to Rincewind's face, but he seemed to be edging towards the door all the same.

Cats, Death finally said, cats are nice pets. They are clever and independent.

SQUEEK!

A voice from Death's inner pocket made him pet it slightly. I am afraid the Death of Rats dislikes cats for the amount of overwork they cause him, he apologised.

Harry peeked up to see a small skeletal rat, in a black hooded robe, holding a tiny scythe.

"Oh!"

"Harry…." Rincewind said weakly.

Death inspected the boy a little closer. Not of this world, are you? He said, then I will never have business with you. An interesting thought. Very interesting. A human free of the Duty. And with a Destiny.

"Harry…" Rincewind tugged on the boy's sleeve, but the child remained where he was, fascinated by the figure that now regarded him with curiosity and, if it were possible for an anthropomorphic personification of Death, hope.

Squeek. Squeeeeeek eek! The Death of Rats said accusingly.

Quite right. However, this one is different. It is not considered interfering with the affairs of humans when the boy is not subject to me. And he certainly needs teaching.

Squeek, huffed the Death of Rats, and crawled back into the folds of the robe.

"Harry…" Rincewind pleaded.

"But he could teach us so much, Rincewind!" Harry said excitedly, "imagine, Death! The things he must know…"

Death grinned back at the child, but that was because grinning was generally what he always did. Harry grinned because he could. The Death of Rats hooked his scythe through one of Death's ribs and swung itself up on the blackclad shoulder, where it squeeked something that Harry understood to mean something along the lines of 'if you insist.'

I do, said Death.

Rincewind fainted.


	26. Star Trekking across the HP world

**Space…the final frontier. These are the voyages of the Wizard Harry. His continuing mission – to destroy evil Dark Lords. To seek out new evil and new villains. To boldly fight what no one has fought before…**

Leafing through his Defense texts of the past five years, Harry Potter sighed. Alright, so he had been able to keep his trunk with him this time instead of it being locked in the cupboard under the stairs by Uncle Vernon. He had his wand, which he was forbidden from using on pain of expulsion. He had some old notes for homework assignments. Fat lot of good that all was.

"And no one bothered to give me some advanced reading," Harry grumbled, "or thought that just maybe I would need more than my OWLs to defeat a friggin' Dark Lord."

"Do you hear me?" he stated aggressively at the ceiling, pretending it was any Order member, "I. NEED. HELP."

"You pathetic humans always do," a voice sounded from atop the wardrobe, "you are really so lucky that I am here, and taking an interest. The others couldn't care one bit, but I, I find you *fascinating*."

Harry stared at the strange man with short dark curls that lay atop the wardrobe, dressed in a rather fancy version of wizard robes. Robes that would put Professor Dumbledore to shame.

"Who are you, and how did you get here?" Harry trained his wand on the intruder.

"Oh, puhlease. That really won't do you any good. You know, regular humans – Muggles, I believe you call them? – and wizards are to us, Q, pretty much all alike." The man heaved a dramatic sigh. "But that is mostly because to us, your magical powers are not even child's play. They simply don't register with most Q, and they think them unimportant."

The man gave the most pathetic pout Harry had ever seen.

"Is your name Q?" he asked.

Looking around in fake bewilderment the man looked around, almost bashing his head on the ceiling.

"Didn't I say it was?"

"You called yourself 'us'" Harry pointed out.

"I am *a* Q from the Q Continuum, but that is neither here nor there," a/the/sorta Q said.

"Literally, I suppose," Harry muttered.

The Q looked delighted. "Indeed! You are completely right. It IS neither here, nor there. One might argue if it is a place or a state of being…"

"So you are Q," Harry interrupted, "and while you think I am far, far beneath you, you plan to help me defeat Voldemort. Is that an accurate summary?"

Q momentarily pressed his lips together in annoyance before nodding.

"Exactly. I am going to take you to a place where you will learn all you need to know to defeat your little..what did you call him? Volley something?"

"Voldemort," Harry said, "where are you taking me? And when?"

Before he had even finished speaking, his surroundings changed. He was no longer in his small bedroom at Privet Drive. He and Q now stood in a rather large room full of people, who all turned from what was apparently their work to stare at the pair. A man seated in a comfortable looking chair in the middle of the room stood up abruptly.

"Q!"

"JEAN-LUC!" Q returned in exactly the same tones, then smoothly going to flattering. "Long time no see, for you at least, how have you been? Look, I even brought you a present, a brand new apprentice. Now don't you ever say I never think of you again."

Q then turned to the shocked Harry. "Welcome to your new home, Harry m'boy! I'm sure you'll er, fit right in."

And then he was gone.


	27. Blackmail 101

Two of the three black-haired boys quietly left the Hogwarts infirmary, one steadily ignoring the other's attempt at conversation.

The Headmaster turned to the last child, seated on one of the beds.

"Mr Snape, I am afraid I must award you a month of detentions also for being out of bounds. And you will keep Mr Lupins secret."

"What?" the boy stared at him, open-mouthed.

"Surely you can see Mr Lupin had nothing to do with this prank. It would be unfair if any consequences were to befall him because of Mr Black's poor judgement. Therefore, you must not tell anyone that he is a werewolf. I am afraid if you did, life at school might become a great deal more unpleasant for you."

If he thought the implied threat would subdue the boy, he was mistaken. The child merely grinned bitterly. "More unpleasant than it already is? More unpleasant than being nearly killed and then blackmailed into not telling anyone? Personally, I don't see how it could get more unpleasant and therefore, there is no reason for me to keep quiet."

"I would have no other option than to expel you," Dumbledore informed him.

"Oh, please do. I am sure Durmstrang or Beauxbatons would love to take in a boy unfairly expelled from Hogwarts for trying to protect other students from a werewolf the Headmaster and staff smuggled into the school. Not to mention once I am expelled, you will have no authority whatsoever over what I do or do not tell…Headmaster."

"But think of the consequences for Mr Lupin!" having failed at threatening the child, the Headmaster decided to appeal to the Slytherin's conscience, "he could be executed for something he has no control over!"

"Lupin is a pureblood. His parents are both magical. True, they have not been very visible in the magical community for reason of Lupins condition, but the pureblood laws do apply to them, as the Wizengamot would no doubt agree. It would not execute a Pureblood for such a condition. The long-term ward at St Mungo's, at worst."

The child sat up and stared at the old man with cold, dark eyes. The Headmaster felt a shiver run down his spine. Only a few short years ago he had seen those same eyes, alive and bright with joy at the sight of the castle. Now they looked old beyond their years, and devoid of feeling.

"No, Headmaster. Here's the deal. I will agree to keeping Lupins secret on the condition that his friends are kept away from me. No more hexing me, pranking me, destroying my possessions. You are going to make sure my life in this school of yours is bearable. If not, well…then I am afraid at some point I will just break under the pressure and reveal things you do not wish revealed…"

Dumbledore frowned, but short of killing the child here and now where he sat, there was no way to keep the boy quiet if he did not wish to keep quiet.

"Very well," he finally conceded, "I will trust you to keep your end of the bargain."

He walked towards the door. "I am disappointed in you, Mr Snape. Hogwarts does not teach blackmailing others…"

The smirk on Severus Snape's young face has a slightly bitter tone when his soft voice followed the Headmaster down the hall.

"You are mistaken, Sir. You have taught me all I needed to know."


	28. SPEW for Dark Lords

**A/N Why Voldemort does not have House Elves.**

"Hmm. Perhaps I should have chosen a somewhat…cleaner location as Headquarters," the Dark Lord mused, surveying the dirty and neglected Riddle Mansion. Killing the caretaker certainly hadn't improved matters.

"Got a spare House Elf you could borrow, Master," Parkinson offered.

"Not a bad idea," the aspiring world-dominator acknowledged. Within minutes, a small creature appeared before the Dark Throne, where Voldemort was not sitting down since the Dark Throne had mostly rotten away and he was sure to go straight through it should he attempt to use it. Dignity is something the average Dark Lord can ill afford to lose, and certainly not in such a manner.

"Elf," the Dark Lord said, "This house needs cleaning. And my seat needs replacing. Get on with it."

"Yes, Master Darky Sir," the elf replied.

Voldemort's eyes narrowed. Considering the snake-like slits, this actually had the not entirely desired result of making them look more human, but he got his point across anyway. The elf trembled.

"My Lord will do," Voldemort turned around and waved a hand to dismiss the creature to its work.

An hour later a soft pop heralded the return of the elf.

"Master Lordy's chair is being repaired," the elf reported.

"Lordy…oh for Merlin's sake!" the Dark Lord exclaimed, "Elf. Try 'Master Voldemort'."

"Master Voldymorry Sir's chair is being repaired," the elf repeated obediently.

"ELF!" Voldemort nearly screamed, "find a way to address me that does not sound like a cute nickname."

"Skippy will try…Skippy will ask Elf Council," the elf nodded.

Soon, five more Elves popped in.

"Master be needing a name," Skippy reported, "No Darky. No Lordy. No Voldymorrie."

The elves were quiet for a moment.

"Riddly?"

Voldemort's eyes bulged.

"Marvey?" another ventured.

"He-Whooy?" the third tried.

Voldemort turned purple, which clashed horribly with his eyecolour.

"I knows! Tommy!" Skippy exclaimed to general approval.

"Tommy!" all others nodded happily, "Master Tommy. Master Tommy would like house cleaned? We has spare fifteen minutes – we cleans Master Tommy's house together."

A quarter of an hour later, the house was spotless. All except for a wet patch near the Dark Throne, where the Dark Lord had spent fifteen minutes breaking down in sobs.

After this event, Voldemort never tried to take on another House Elf, and made the Death Eaters clean up after themselves, instead.


	29. Cracked

A/N: Takes place after the events of Prisoner of Azkaban.

Snape rolled over to his side for the second time that hour, not caring that he vomited straight onto his bedroom floor. Not that it mattered – his stomach had been empty to begin with. He was by now too dehydrated to even produce slime and saliva to expel. His head pounding, he lay back down, vaguely grateful for the quiet and darkness of the dungeon room.

Four days ago he had been knocked out by three teens. That was embarrassing enough to begin with, but upon waking and getting everyone to the castle, he had gotten the worst shocks. Black escaped. Lupin, not having taken his potion, had gone gallivanting off into the Forbidden Forest as a rabid full-fledged werewolf, to do some maiming and slaughtering of innocent creatures there. Rather there than in the castle, he supposed.

Then Dumbledore humiliated him, cost him an Order of Merlin – did the old man even realize that it was not his ego that smarted over the loss of the award? He had been a Death Eater – because of his trial, the Ministry knew that. However powerful the Headmasters word, he was only one man standing between him and Azkaban. An Order of Merlin for services rendered might have gone a long way in providing additional protection. It would have meant he was not solely dependant upon the Headmaster, but could show something of his own merit.

All the while his head had been aching fiercely, his stomach roiling and black spots threatening his vision. That was how he had appeared at breakfast, that next morning, having spent a sleepness night on guard to make sure the werewolf Lupin did not return to the castle until the transformation was reversed, something no one else apparently deemed necessary. The sight of food threatened to destroy the weak hold he had on his nausea. He ignored everyone and everything, until McGonagall has asked him if he was alright, shoving some bacon and eggs in his direction.

He had pushed away from the table immediately.

"Alright? Merlin, woman! Try standing guard against a werewolf all night and how you feel in the morning! The next time Lupin transforms, *you* get to take first watch."

He had wondered, at that moment, what idiot was shouting so loudly when his head already seemed to be bursting. It took him some time to realize it was his own voice.

Looking down the table, he saw the shock on the faces of the students and staff, and the disappointment in Dumbledore's eyes. He got up as quickly as he dared and left, locking himself in his bedroom.

And there he was now.

"Severus?" a voice pierced his fuzzy thoughts.

"Severus? I'm coming in."

Technically he had warded the door, but there was one person who could always enter every room in the castle – the nurse. Poppy held a wardstone that allowed her access to private rooms, in case the occupant of the room was unconscious (or worse) and had his or her wards up.

Poppy entered the rooms, wrinkling her nose. The smell was hardly pleasant.

"We've not seen you for a while," she said, approaching the bedroom door.

Poppy had become worried when Snape, already not the best of eaters, had consistently missed meals the past days. When she brought it up with the Headmaster, the man had twinkled infuriatingly and told her Severus had suffered a severe disappointment as well as having cost Lupin his job, attracting the ire of most of his colleagues and students. He was probably down in his rooms sulking. No need to worry.

But Poppy had asked the elves, and Severus had not asked them for any meals. Reluctant to let him go without food for too long, she had taken it upon herself to check on him.

"Severus?"

She entered, waving on a light and dimming it immediately upon seeing her patients wince.

"What is wrong?"

"Head…" he managed.

A wand waved over him.

"Merlin, Severus! You have a severe concussion – there's even a hairline fracture in your skull. Where in the world did you get that, and why didn't you come to me?"

"Shack…knocked me out," he tried to avoid the lit tip of the wand she held over his eyes, but she took his chin. "Let me see your eyes…good…no swelling in your brain. You've been sick?"

"Often…" he groaned, "got knocked into a wall in the Shrieking Shack…got levitated out none too carefully apparently…"

"No, I can see that, you have bumps all over your head. Did you take anything? Painreliever?"

"Didn't dare," he muttered, "couldn't see the labels very well."

"I'll give you something for the nausea and the pain," Poppy measured out a few potions. Then she called for an elf, giving orders to clean up the room and bed while she spelled Snape into a clean nightshirt.

"I would take you up to the infirmary, but it's darker and more comfortable for you here," she said, "rest now. I'll be back in a while to check on you."

Feeling a great deal better, albeit completely exhausted, Snape quickly fell into much needed sleep.

ssssssssss

Poppy arrived late for lunch.

"Students keeping you, Poppy?" Minerva asked.

"No. I've been to treat Severus."

The Headmaster looked up.

"He has a severe concussion, Albus!" Poppy snarled, "he cracked his skull, for Merlin's sake! Why was he not brought to me immediately? He could have died, down there on his own. As it is, with the delay in treatment, he'll have to take it very easy for weeks."

"Honestly, Poppy," Dumbledore sighed, "if you remember, the night was rather hectic. I had far more important things to deal with."

The nurse stared at him. Finally she got up from the table. "I am forever grateful, Headmaster, that he did not have to hear you say that. No, Minerva," she shook off the hand of her colleague who attempted to get her to sit back down, "thank you, but I've lost my appetite."

A little confused by the normally calm nurse's behaviour, the staff turned back to their lunch.


	30. Yoda

AN: A tad bit silly.

"Master Harry Potter, Sir!"

Harry blearily opened his eyes. "Murgle?"

"No, Master Harry Potter Sir, I is not a Muggle, I is Dobby."

Harry rubbed the sleep from his eyes. "I do realize that, Dobby. What is it?"

Dobby seemed to be bouncing from the ceiling. "Master Harry Potter Sir.."

"Dobby. I told you, oh, about twice a day for the past hundred years, to just call me Harry."

"Yes, Master Harry Sir," Dobby bounced even more, and Harry gave up, "Well, Master Harry Sir remembers when Dobby married Winky and Dobby and Winky be trying to have little ones?"

Unfortunately, Harry remembered that all too clearly. It had led to him putting some hefty permanent Silencing wards on the rooms in the attic where the elves lived.

"Yes, Dobby. But I thought you and Winky…well…"

Dobby stopped bouncing briefly and nodded. "Dobby and Winky stop trying about fifty years ago, Master Harry Sir. But…but…" The elf started to glow with pride and happiness, "Dobby and Winky is finally having a little one!"

Harry's eyes widened. "Seriously, Dobby? That is awesome!"

Then he blinked. "Wait…but…Witches can only conceive up until age 70, give or take. Elves…"

"Oh, Elves lives much longer," Dobby said, "Dobby is older than Dumblydore. And Winky nearly two hundred, too."

"O….kay…" Harry sat on the edge of his bed, hunting for his glasses, "when is the baby due, Dobby? I should like to get a gift…"

"Master Harry Sir is such a sweet and kind wizard!" Dobby beamed, "Baby is due in four years."

"F…four?" Harry stammered.

"Elves lives long. Hundreds of years. Elves has long gestation periods," Dobby explained.

"Ok. Ok, I get it. Well, good luck with the pregnancy. You will let me know if there's anything Winky needs to make her more comfortable, right? And she's not to overexert herself."

"Master Harry never lets Dobby and Winky overexert," Dobby reminded him, "bond with Master Harry will give Dobby and Winky strong child, powerful child."

Harry's brain refused to let in this piece of information for fear of unclean mental images, which was just as well.

Indeed, four years later, shortly after Harry's one hundred and twenty-first birthday, Winky gave birth to a little house elf boy. Harry went to visit them right away, bringing a tiny crib, several toys and stuffed animals for the baby. As soon as he saw the greenish little bundle of joy, and stroked the head with one finger, he winced and stepped back as if bitten. Which was quite impossible, the little one having no teeth.

"What was that?" he said, examining the blanket-wrapped infant closer. Winky handed it to him, and he very carefully cradled the tiny thing in both hands.

"Such a lot of power…" Harry frowned, "what is this?"

"I told you, Master Harry Sir. Strong child, powerful child." Dobby said proudly.

"I'll say. This one is going to surprise the whole world one day," Harry acknowledged, completely unconcerned. This was Dobby and Winky's child, and while he sometimes questioned both parents' sanity, he never ever had cause to doubt their loyalty and devotion.

"You best start him on a decent education as soon as he's ready," he remarked, "I'll bear the costs. Such potential must be nurtured.

The elves looked at him in pure adoration, which made him feel highly uncomfortable. He noticed the baby's eyes had opened and were studying him intensely. He smiled, and was rewarded with a soft sigh and a baby going back to its peaceful sleep. Handing it back to his parents, Harry beamed.

"It'll be nice to have a little one around the house again," he said wistfully, remember when his own children were small, "what is his name?"

"We is wanting a good, strong name for him," Dobby explained, "Strong name for strong boy. No pet name to be teased. We is naming him Yoda."

"Yoda," Harry tried, "That is a fine name. Welcome, little Yoda. It'll be interesting to see where this life will take _you_."


End file.
